To Understand the Demon
by RaspBerryHats
Summary: This is the story of a different girl. Orphaned in New York City, she is doomed to revel in her austere past, a victim of loss forever. Until the night a monster from her nightmares manifests to reveal a world she never knew of: the world of the Slayers.
1. Chapter 1: The Lineage Continues

"**Don't ever underestimate how horribly complicated things can get."**

**Help can come from the most unlikely places and in times when you might think you don't need it. Reid Robinson is in debt, an orphan, and frankly just pissed off. Now she's expected to save the world from demon hordes as a newly called Slayer. Will it be possible for a woman, who was never given a second chance, to understand her own inner demons, the demons she must defeat to fulfill her fate, and the other demon she very might well love with all her soul? **

_Main character is OC but eventually will become embedded in the Scoobies. All continuity with the first seven seasons except Spike didn't 'go ghost' afterwards. He closed the Hellmouth and booked it outta there. _

_-To S. Davis and A.G_

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Lineage Continues**

Cop cars smell like vomit. And beneath that remarkably acidic smell, (which always managed to permeate my heavily beer-scented jacket) a dusty, dirty smell, accompanied by the underlying scent sugar and burnt coffee. However, for the most part, every single leather-vinyl backseat of a New York state police car I had ever been in smelled like rotten sick.

And that was really saying something: I had been in many, _many_ cop cars. Even more than that, most likely, because I don't remember doing half of the things listed in the police reports filed under my name. I must have gone in a cop car for all of those, right?

The cold, silver chains around my wrists rested on the vinyl between spread legs, my shivering hands pulling at the fleshy fuzz leaking from the dark blue fake leather. A static voice bleeped out from the radio up front, unintelligible to those in the back seat, and especially to those who are incredibly drunk. Me, for example.

"Isn't this thing meant for high-speed chases?" I blurted out and continued to pick at the yellowing fuzz. "Where's the Batman-mobile button? Press it so rockets will shoot us forward, faster than a speeding bullet. Whoops, wrong superhero reference."

Silence followed my minor pop-culture mistake. I glared up at the profiles of the men driving me home. One had a very thick neck, gray hair, comb mustache and beetle-brown eyes. Never once did his eyes glance back at me. The driver, however, was new. He was young for a policeman, maybe mid-twenties. With a black mustache and limp hair covering his balding spot, this man had already once or twice looked into the rear-view mirror at the young, drunk, redheaded girl whose legs were spread far apart in the back of his car.

"Hey, newbie, I haven't gotten your full name." I said, sneering. "It's Fibs-something, right? I have to know the names of all the fine gentlemen that tuck me back into bed at night. Their numbers are good too. You never know when you might need to call them back after a paternity test—,"

"That's enough, Miss. Robinson," the burly, older cop cut across me. His new trainee sent him a nervous glance.

My boots lifted up from the floor and the heels dug into the metal grate beside the older cop's head.

"Come on, _Mr. Banks_, I know you don't like it when I harass the new bloods. But how will they ever grow a spine to fight off the big meanies?"

Policeman Drew Banks did nothing but stare on ahead. The paleness of his skin shone greatly when we passed under streetlights.

"You know not every case will be as obedient as I am. Some will sit back here and curse for hours, no matter what you say." I resumed my task of demolishing the back seat. "They will curse you in every language they know. And that will be a broad range, depending on who they are. Not everyone you pick up will be a little spunk redhead who started a nice clean bar fight. Some will be rapists, murders. They can hold grudges for years after you put them behind bars. And the waste bin of society that we live in can sometimes let those people out before their justice is duly served. So who do you think they will come after first? Their last victims' families? No, most killers aren't that smart to remember whom they last tortured. My bet is that they go for who they took away their good years. Are you a particularly superstitious man, Mr. Fibs?"

"We're here," Officer Fibs croaked as we pulled in front of the apartment complex. His voice was dry. I smirked into the rearview mirror. Banks looked at his partner, whether to glare or to just simply look, I couldn't see; he was hidden in the shadow of a nearby building. But in any case, Banks continued with procedure: he opened his door, fiddled with keys to my door, unlocked and pulled it open. Fibs ran around to the other side of the car, waiting for me by the trunk. I slid towards the side of the seat and two firm hands, one firmly locked on to my arm and the other shaking ever so slightly, they pulled me out of the car and we set off toward the apartment gates. Fibs was holding onto me a little too firmly and I couldn't help but send a smile of immense satisfaction toward him. He absolutely refused to look at me now.

Banks typed in the code to the gate without even a grunt of request from me. The old geezer must have memorized it, I thought. Not surprising though, as he had dumped me back here so many times. I just wished the Alzheimer's would set in already.

The two men yanked me through the gate and up the concrete stairs. The pale green window dressings were closed and the pool in the center of the community was etched in silver from the reflection of the moon. It was late. Normal people had gone to bed. My kind of people had stepped out and I had gone with them. Unfortunately for one man, he had tried to take my pool table. That ended with a trip, for him, to the local hospital and a fine of $500 dollars for me. Oh, and a really killer headache from when the jerk hit me over the head with a wine bottle. But somehow I don't see Dina reacting too passionately to the pounding in my skull.

Through the lightheadedness and the robust tinge to the world around me, I felt a scuttle of uneasiness drop into my skin. For all the fun I could have in the world, I would somehow piss off Dina and I really didn't like that. So the fun was kept to a bare minimum. Except for tonight. Tonight, things had gotten a little out of hand.

The two cops pulled me along the door-blotched balcony and finally came to rest at apartment number 522. Banks lifted a pudgy hand and rapped firmly upon the off-white wood. There was a brief pause, and then my caretaker for eleven years opened the door.

She filled out a large old UNY sweatshirt, grey sweatpants and white and blue Nikes she never seemed to take off. Her short, curly, gray-dotted hair looped around her head, almost as agitated as she was. Even I, the girl that managed to put a full grown man in the hospital, slunk away from the piercing glare of her auburn eyes. But in the microsecond I saw her face before lowering my head ever so slightly, to escape the electric burn the disappointment and anger etched onto my skin, I saw she looked tired.

"Thanks Banks, Fibs. I'm surprised one of these days you just don't leave her in drunk-tank for the night. Might do her some good."

As though they knew the wrath of former _Mrs._ Dina Wilcox would unleash upon me, the cops that had maintained their vice-like grip on my arms immediately let go and I stumbled into the kitchen area of apartment 522. Acting slightly more drunk than I felt, I tumbled to the old couch and slumped into its cushions.

"We know who she is and instead of polluting the cell rooms even more, we just dump her back on your doorstep. Sorry if that's an inconvenience for you."

"I was about to go to bed anyway. It doesn't matter to me if she sleeps this one off too. Where'd you find her tonight?"

"Outside Ruben's. There was a noise complaint and when we drove up, she was wailing pretty hard on this guy. I'm personally not surprised that no one tried to intervene. When we finally got her away from this man's face, she looked wild."

In the darkness of the cushions, I grinned. My knuckles gave a particularly happy twinge too.

"What did the guy do to piss her off so bad?"

"We have no idea. Immediately after we got her away from him, an ambulance pulled up and took him away. The paramedics feared there might be some internal bleeding. We'll check up on him tomorrow, but you might hear from his lawyer sooner."

Dina sighed heavily, a sigh that she's been doing for years now.

"Well, in any case, thank you both for bringing her back. If it was any other officer that picked her up—,"

"She'd be in the drunk-tank and she could be facing charges tomorrow. Now at least she's got some time to try to get a lawyer and a defense case."

"His face was really that bad?"

"Yes." Banks said firmly and then when he spoke again, his voice dropped as if Dina was the only one meant to hear it. "This can't keep happening, Dina. The thieving has got to end and these bar fights need to go away. If she ever does get in front of a judge, her case is so stacked up from petty crimes, he'll have to send her away, whether she is convicted of the crime she is there for or not. You've got to fix her, Dina, before she makes a mistake she'll regret for the rest of her life."

Hidden away from the cops, I was absolutely shocked. Then his words started to sink in and they, the truth, seeped through my skin like hot lava swallowing a fallen tree. And I hated him for it. The grin mutated into a snarl and my good hand clenched into a fist.

"Brilliant, Banks," Dina said flatly. "I need sleep, so leave."

Her snap of a goodbye made me feel a rush of appreciation towards Dina.

I imagined the cops nodding solemnly, returning their blue caps to their heads and leaving back down the stairs as Dina closed the door on them. I then thought of what Fibs was asking of Banks behind that closed door; just how many times had he dropped me off at Dina's instead of the drunk-tank?, he'd ask. How many times had he let things slide just for me? How many more times would it be before I started to act my age?

I didn't have the slightest clue of the answer to these and I suspected, neither did Banks.

"I hope it was worth it, Reid."

She knew my passed-out routine was just an act and so I rolled onto my back, a harsh grin pulling at my face.

"Yes it was. Now everyone in the downtown Manhattan area knows to not take my goddamn pool table, even if I don't play with anyone other than me, myself and I."

Dina, a long time ago, would have said something. Reprimanded me for my crass responses. But tonight as she stood loosely in her sweatpants and sweatshirt, she only stared.

"I know why you're acting out so much."

I nearly laughed at that. "Acting out"; she hadn't said that since I was fourteen.

"The day is coming up again and you're just pissed. You're like a dog when there's a storm coming."

Right, that day. That day was coming up and I was doing everything humanly possible to keep the calendar out of my mind. A wave of uneasiness swayed against my resolve but in the end, I grinned up at Dina.

"Aww, gee thanks. Good to see that you think I have heightened abilities, like a dog. Well, I think you're a dog too. An old, grouchy bitch."

The grin became a snarl; I could feel it.

Dina stared at me. She was tired and there was a sharp burst of gleaming satisfaction I took from her sagged look.

"The bed is made up in the guest room."

Dina turned into the hallway and closed the door. As though the walls were glaring their disapproval, I turned away and swallowed. Old bat had no idea what she was talking about. My little "crimes" weren't increasing; nothing is changing.

The walls seemed to inch closer, and I thumbed the edge of the couch before pushing off and stalking down towards the other end of the hallway. My hand rested on the cold metal handle. The blank white door opposite me looked as sad as Dina did before she left, and so I slammed the door behind me with everything I could.

The light switch roughed my finger pads as I turned it. The surprisingly sterile white room opened with a yellow gleam. A short dresser with a mirror hanging above it stood facing a bed with green and blue patterns on the comforter. It looked like the bad side of the 80's had vomited all over the poor blanket. An arched window sat next to the bed and it alone was the source of moonlight. Everything was clean. And the room was disturbingly cold.

Shivering, I took off my boots and jean jacket and then stripping all the way down to my shirt and underwear, I crawled into the bed. The sheets itched as though there were tiny mothballs sewn haphazardly into the cloth. The comforter was plastic and thin. My head sunk down to the bed in the non-existent pillow. I felt out of place and out of sorts. Dina's face erupted in my mind again and my back itched. She didn't want me to be here at all. She was just taking me in because she felt responsible for what I was. Dina thought it was her fault I'm a "delinquent". It's not and she was right. The day was coming around again and I was beyond restless. Dina took me because she wanted to let me know I wasn't alone. But even now, in my old room, in my old house, with the woman who was practically my mother, I felt like an outsider. I was a guest and I was in the guest room.

With one last glance around the constant blankness that surrounded me, I switched off the light and sunk deeper into the bed. As the last threads of consciousness slipped away, I wondered if the reason why Dina had worn that UNY sweatshirt was to remember the college days between her and my mother. Dina was missing her best friend in her own way.

Then I began to dream about the night my birth mother was killed and I watched.

* * *

I was eleven and running. I was running so hard, trying to breathe past the pain and pure terror, but I wasn't going anywhere. My tiny white sandals were breaking down against the alley pavement and the heat from friction was burning my calves. I knew he was close by, practically behind me. In just one swoop, his hand could reach out and take me into the black that constantly shadowed him. I would never see day again, I would never see my mom or my friends or laugh again. He would take me and that would be it, but I wouldn't die. He was trying to take me to Hell.

The sheer primitive fear that came with that thought released a wild scream from my throat. I screamed again and tried running faster, but he was so close. I screamed again and suddenly realized that I wasn't the only one. My little feet slid to stop and I tumbled over my legs, hitting the ground, ripping my tights. Sharp rocks stung my skin and there was a cool rush on my knees and palms, like I was bleeding but I took no notice because as I stared down the alley, eyes filled with tears transfixed, I knew my mother was dying. All I could see was a shadowy silhouette of two figures: one as our attacker and my mother's rapidly weakening form. They were close together, almost like they were hugging, then my mother suddenly fell to the ground in a heap and the man stepped back. He stood for a moment, staring at the black lump before heading off towards the street. I screamed again, in both rage and fear. The man turned and the streetlight put him in full view. His face was mutilated and dripping in blood. Ridges covered his forehead and around his eyes, making the golden fireballs ever blazing. His wide mouth was set open in a gruesome snarl; long pointed fangs were set out like a cobra's; poison swirling inside of them. But he did not attack me. The murder hissed, wiped a running drop of blood from his mouth with the back of a hand and turned down the street, forever gone.

Silence was surrounding me, pressing down on me from everywhere until I could barely breath. I reached forward, towards my mother—

—and fell. Down through concrete and earth, spinning and spiraling and screaming—

I could smell everything, and see everything, floating in a huge cavern. There were roars and growls and snarls and the constant munch of feet upon dirt and stone. But for a moment, I couldn't see what was making the noise. Then I realized the ground and the walls were moving with things. Thousands of things were crawling everywhere. They had the body of a man, but ran hunched over and snarling like animals. They were gray and had lumpy heads. Their sunken black eyes gave them the appearance of having no eyes at all. There were purple scorch marks on their faces, and their boney fingers had jagged, sharp nails. Their chipped teeth made a wall of bone-barbed wire. Where their canine teeth would be, two long, perfectly pointed fangs glinted like icicles.

The only way out was through a small cave and that was where the sea of monsters was pouring out. But inside the cave, there seemed to be other things besides the monsters. They looked like they were trying to stem the flow of the monsters out of the huge cavern. The figures looked to be human, but as far as gender goes, I couldn't tell. Human or not, however, they were doing their best to push back the monsters.

"They are fighting for your future." Someone said behind me. I didn't turn around; I was perfectly calm. "Some shall die so that you may live."

"Can I help?" I heard myself say. My hand twitched. Something odd was sending chills down through my chest. My fist quivered. I looked down upon the scrabbling millions of the monsters with a towering gaze. They ran, relentless, in teaming masses, falling over each other to get out, ant-like in their struggle to be free. I was the kid with an iron heel and magnifying glass. There was an instinctual need to kill these things, and the need was growing into a burning desire.

"You are connected. Every one of them down there, they are your future. Your past, your present, you are a part of them."

I suddenly shuddered forward by a heavy force, my vision blacking out and a soft wailing filling my ears. Visions of thousands of women, young, beautiful and strong, came screaming into my head. A Victorian lady, a young Egyptian, a nurse in war, a beautiful blonde girl, about fifteen: they were bent over, hands over their ears and eyes clamped tightly shut, just like I was now. And suddenly I knew; they weren't in pain, they were feeling it too. As though my heartbeat had been amplified all over my body, I felt a pulse thrumming under my skin. A warm glow trickled down from the top of my head, seeping through my hair, down over my face, covering my arms, chest, hips, thighs, calves and feet. I was bathing in gentle honey. The women in my head had collapsed, dropped to their knees or started to cry. In seconds, I felt the source of their joy. I was strong. Energy was vibrating through me and I could feel my hands shake. I knew what we had. We all had power, a purpose. A string was threaded through each of those strangers and it was weaving through me now.

Still unperturbed by the chaos around me, I finally turned to see who was there with me, watching this change.

There stood a young woman, her black hair knotted and tangled, bits of cloth woven in. She only wore cloth bandages, torn, ragged and dirty. Her skin was dark as were her warm, dark eyes, but something about her presence made me feel as though a goddess was looking directly at me.

"You are the Chosen one. You shall stop the vampires and the demons. You shall fight the dark with your light and keep the evil at bay."

Behind me something large exploded and I glanced over my shoulder. One of the figures was glowing in a column of sunlight, their face upturned. Suddenly a blast of golden light shot from it and hit a wave of the monsters. They vanished. The light streaked into other beams and shook the cavern. The monsters disappeared. All of them were gone in a matter of seconds.

There was a brief, stunned silence and then the ground heaved in retaliation. A large chunk of the cavern wall fell in and rocks tumbled down from the ceiling. Another gap appeared in the wall as more of the cavern fell to pieces. I turned back to the wild woman.

"_You are the Slayer_." Her eyes flashed white.

* * *

_Thud_

I lay sprawled on the floor, shaken and disturbed. White sheets from the bed hung down towards me, like white fingers reaching out to draw me back. The ground was cold beneath my sweaty fingertips. The mind-blowing rush that had drowned me as I slept, I felt only a tingle of it now, a complete sense of helplessness being absorbed up from the floor. A rational voice in my head told me I had a seriously intense dream and I should just crawl back under the covers and never give it another moment's thought. But I couldn't. That bed that sat beside me, it didn't feel like mine. The small set of drawers over on the other side of the room; they weren't mine either. The body that sat shaking and cold on this alien floor, that was very, very far from being mine.

But here, as I tried to get used to being so far from home, I noticed that this place wasn't too far off from where I used to be. Moonlight spilt in from the dusty window. A splintered dresser hunched to the side, just as mine had before. The room itself was silent, but outside I could hear sirens and cars and the usual frantic noise of downtown Manhattan, New York. Never mind, this is where I live.

As last night came reeling back, accompanied by a severe headache, I remember the bar fight, the cops and Dina's disappointment. I check the clock. 7 A.M, it read and I shrugged. Dina has been known to drop me off at my apartment before she drives to work. How I made it up the stairs and to the correct room each time... Well, that was what Dina did with people.

A grimy feeling was making my skin itch so I took the risk of going to the bathroom. I doubted that my legs could hold but still I heaved onto them and wobbling, made my way to the bathroom down the hall.

If someone stood outside my room, standing in the stairwell, watching people pass from one dingy apartment to the next, they probably would figure I was still completely wasted as I tumbled along the hall, my hands grasping tightly to the rusty railing around the stairwell. But of course, as it always was, there was no one there but me.

Finally, I came to the grey, once-white bathroom door, banged it open and walked trance-like through. My hands automatically felt for the switch, flipped it on and then moved to the sink. They splashed cold water onto my face, freeing me slightly of the fog in my head. I dried myself and pushed a lock of wet, scarlet-red hair back behind my ear. Putting both hands on each side of the cracked sink, I glared into the blue eyes staring back at me from the mirror. Wet mascara from the previous day made black lines run down my face, like I had been crying throughout the night.

_You are the Slayer_

The wild woman's face flashed in the mirror and I dove backwards, hitting the wall. Inside my chest, my heart was beating erratically. But all that looked at me through the mirror now was a pale girl, looking scared, shocked and psychotic.

It was a dream, nothing else. Exhaling slowly, I turned my head against the wall and looked through the cracked window that sat above the shower. It was almost morning, light blue peeling off the dark black. A new day was starting, already late morning in some part of the world.

Mentally shaking myself, I tied my sweaty hair back and went back to my room. My shift at Burger Bonanza started in two hours. A couple more minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt. They really didn't care if I was late one more day. They had forgotten about firing me a long time ago.


	2. Chapter 2: Awake

Chapter 2: Awake

It was around nine, verging on ten, when I awoke. The hiss of the radiator had pulled me from one of the only soothing dreams I had in a while, so in retaliation to the hell spawn, I chucked a pillow at it. It wobbled back and only hissed louder. Work started about an hour ago, and, as I sat up and put my feet to the cold floor, I remembered I was supposed to open the doors today. I glared at the radiator: a fat lot of good it did to keep the floor from being frozen.

With holey socks put haphazardly over my feet, I shuffled into the section of the tiny apartment the landlord called a kitchen and began to make coffee. On one of the plastic chairs I used as barstools, there sat a small stack of white envelopes. Bills.

I sighed. She had set me off my schedule for the week. Dina had obviously put the bills in the first place I would look this morning, strategically trying to get me to pay them, instead of my usual shoving them into the incinerator in the basement. On every Friday of every two months, I would take up the stack of bills, some loose change I would find underneath the lint in the couch, and go down to the basement of the apartment. I'd chuck the paper into a roaring flame and go get a beer out at Rubens.

Last night pulsed in my memory as pain lanced my head. Okay, scratch that visit to Rubens, bill-burning or no. Either way, I should keep a low profile for a while. Maybe I beat that guy so bad he'd have memory loss and couldn't pick me out of a line up. I swallowed a mouthful of sickly black coffee: here's to the guy's concussion.

The blatant appearance of the bills means Dina was worried. _Damn it_, I thought, for an intervention was certainly around the corner. She would only start sending subtle hints after the anger had passed and the worrying for my future began. Some day soon, she'd appear on my doorstep a calculator in hand and two number two pencils ready to go, saying we could sort this out. I would fall asleep around one o'clock and she would finish up what she started. At least I'd get a night of drinking out of it, even though she wouldn't let me smoke.

For now, I chucked the bills into the trash then poured milk and bits of soggy cereal on top once I had finished breakfast.

As I went back to shower, a thin voice echoed around my apartment.

"Hello, this is Eric Smith from Capital One. This is your last chance to call us and get your debt under control before I send someone—"

I unplugged the phone, smirking heavily into the blank white speakers.

* * *

I took a bus to work and before then, I had taken about five Advil to relief the almost intolerable beating inside my skull. I had to scrub for about ten minutes to remove the thick layer of mascara still left behind on my face. Dina had left me some money for the bus, wanting me to save the few dollars I had for a bank account to build a college fund. That was a lofty dream (more verging on the impossible, never-going-to-happen-in-a-million-years sort of dream) but she was determined to get me to college, or some form of academia. And its not like I couldn't, go to college and all. I just didn't want to. Simple as that. Nothing else. End of story.

I paid $4.00 for the bus ride, another $5.50 for Starbucks and $2.25 for a bagel. I even flipped the man on the street corner $5. Here Dina, this is what I think of college education.

* * *

Burger Bonanza was once a family owned restaurant, known only by the Southern Mannys. But as most honest things go, the government eventually took over, offering 1.5 million dollars to Mr. and Mrs. TJ Hodgins for their restaurant, all recipes known to their restaurant and complete and utter rendering of all Burger Bonanza merchandise. Now, as I am told, Bonanza has 4,300 restaurants nation wide and is on the brink of moving a store to China. The manager of our lowly stand is Freddie Roberts, a young man who was born to be a secretary at Vogue, but until then, he has to work like the rest of us. Tom, a kid in the dead center of high school, worked at B. Bonanza only for a reason to escape home. I wasn't entirely sure of Tom's situation. If forced to guess, he was some sort of adopted kid with bad background (say hellion father) because whenever Freddie asked him about it, he would completely avoid the subject. But other than that, he was the most normal sixteen-year-old I had met out here in the backwaters. Stew, a man in his late forties with a hairy potbelly and arms and a face like a gorilla, worked in the back with the food. He had something to do with unpacking it, or repackaging it, I never really took the time to ask him about it. I work in the front and absolutely refuse to eat the food. Stew is a big man, with lots of hair that cannot be contained no matter how many hairnets he wears.

And then there are about two or three people that none of us can name. We don't really know what they look like, can call them male or female or describe their job. I'd see them working the grill or cleaning the bathrooms but never talk to them or, shortly afterwards, ever see them again. They're extra. They are drifters. Unknowns. They come in, they come out. One minute they're here, the next they're not.

The morning shift had started by the time I got in, but no one noticed as I slipped on a cap, and went to stand behind the register. I don't know why Bonanza opens this early. We don't even serve breakfast. And frankly, the hanging posters of personified red and blue cows and chickens holding 30% off signs are nauseating, especially this early in the morning.

"Look who decided to come to work today," said a brisk voice that grated on the inner workings of my migraine.

"Yeah, Freddie. I'm here. What of it?"

"Your paycheck. As much as you'd like it, I can't pay you for sleeping."

"Why not? You've been doing it for two years."

This type of banter was our way of a 'good morning'. He was an arrogant, narcissistic rat-racer, and I was the lowly employee that never let him forget exactly what I thought of him. I would probably have his job, had it not been for my constant tardys, or occasional, never-showing-ups.

Freddie walked across the brilliantly white tile floor, his saddle shoes shinned and his square glasses calculative and judging. His brown hair was combed to the side and his clipboard had five pens hooked on the top. His usual scowl was replaced by a smirk of superiority and then I felt my stomach drop out to the floor. Freddie was a disgusting kiss-ass to the highest degree, but there was only one reason for this level of cleanliness: _they_ were coming.

"That may be, but run a lawnmower through that fuzz you call hair and wipe the running drool off your chin. Mr. Jennings is coming today," Freddie said, confirming my worst fears.

Freddie straightened his clip-on tie and wedged his classes further up his pointed nose but even as he tried to keep up his forever façade of well-dressed business man, I heard a rise in the pitch of his voice as he said the name of his boss's boss's boss (and probably a hundred more 'boss's boss' up). Mr. Kenner Jennings himself wasn't a terrifying man; his surfer blonde hair and tanned skin was evidence of a hundred spoiled summers, but it was simply what he represented that made everyone at Burger Bonanza put on their fancy shoes and sing the song and dance of 'happy underpaid workers'. His father, Edward Jennings, was the fat cat that bought out the Bonanza from the Hodgins a millennia and a half ago. So as heir to the Bonanza industry, CEO Jennings gave his son the largest branch of Bonanza stores. Determined and backstabbing as his father, Jennings was going to smooze his way to the leather CEO seat of his own, by impressing his superiors with weekly visits to his restaurants across the NY district. Truly, the family business was less than interesting to Kennings Jr., but the money load wasn't something anyone could ignore.

Freddie had moved to the back, trying to arouse those asleep next to the grill and I found myself glancing in the circular, silver-rimmed mirror up in the corner of the ceiling. A nonchalant hand reached up and tugged a stray hair around my ear. He was the man that could decide whether or not I slept on the curb outside 7/11 or got to eat at Fuddruckers. Maybe I could—

There was a girlish squeal from the grill area and before I turned to see what made Freddie scream, he burst back around the corner, a paper towel furiously scrubbing at his shirt.

"What did Stew do now?" I asked, a chuckle following the end of the question. But I immediately knew it was a mistake.

Freddie jerked his head up, his glasses fogged and glinting with anger.

"That pig of a man just slapped me with a soggy slab of hamburger because I woke him up _prematurely_," he scowled and continued to incessantly erase away part of his shirt. For the fraction of a second his hand moved away, I saw that there was no spot at all.

"Damn that oaf! I have to change shirts!" Freddie threw the rag into a trash bin and looked at me as though I was meant to be horribly exasperated as well. "He is coming in ten minutes, and this will simply not do!"

I watched him storm away with an eyebrow raised. My eyes caught the mirror as I saw him go. Again, my reflection was staring at me. Our pinched fingers ran down matching collars. Two creases ran down the left sides of our uniforms and pale hands smoothed them out. There were matching smudges on the side of our cheeks and we wiped them away. Now I was close to the mirror, fixing up every little thing I could. I wanted to wash my hands, drench them soap and scrub until they were numb. Grease from the grill, the heat lamps, even the bathrooms, covered me. I realized that now. Showering was the only option to get it all of off me. But even then, all the water in the world couldn't get the grease off of me. I thumbed away a dark line under my eye, and then something blue returned my attention to the mirror. The reflection-me jerked her head back, just as I did. We stared at each other for a long time. Both had angular chins, almond eyes, wavy and shockingly red hair that covered pale cheeks in a Medusa snake-like tendril way. But, when I came to stare across the small space into of my reflection and to look at those almond eyes again, the sight startled me. The blue, electric eyes were needle-sharp, glaring, fearsome; they burned a hole through my chest, causing me to loose my breath momentarily as though I had been sucker-punched in the stomach. They hated what they saw, even though it was the face of their owner, and that hatred was magnified as they glanced around the room.

The clear door opened, spilling in a brilliant light, and two black silhouettes stepped on the immaculate tile. As the room adjusted to the sudden glow of white, the first figure formed to be a young man in a pinstriped business suit, black loafers and a smooth silver cell phone resting on his ear as one of the arms flipped up its wrists to check the time on a gold Rolex.

"Keep your pants on, Jim. This'll take twenty minutes max then we can get your damn Toilet Pro 2000 off to Asia in an hour." The man rattled off into his phone. He strode into the restaurant, his blonde hair dyed darker than the last time I saw him. Lines ran down the sides of his cheeks as though he had fake-smiled one too many times. His brown eyes stared acutely into a plastic chair, obviously seeing through what was in front of him as he focused on something millions of miles away. His foot tapped as he nodded, and he sighed a couple of times before finally glaring at his watch again as he twirled into a booth to yell at the man on the other line.

The other shadow slowly materialized and the moment I had been dreading as soon as Freddie mentioned their arrival became a reality.

She walked as though on air and the world glided behind her. She wore white summer shorts and a tank top that looked like it had been taken from a romantic beach movie. Her sandals reached up around her tan legs, tying off up at the mid-calf. Golden hair came down in elegant swirls, bobbing along as she walked, caressing her shoulders and chest. From such a person of high class and an endless supply of money, her eyes would naturally assume the glare of superficially superb but for the fiancé of Kenner Jennings, the two auburn suns sparkled with the most genuine happiness I have ever seen on a human face. In one word, Ani Clark was perfect.

"Hi, Reid. How are you?" Ani smiled and I was struck silent for a moment by how honestly curious she was.

"Fine. I'm great. Good." I managed to spit out before realized I never had time wash my hands before she came.

"Sorry about him," she laughed and pointed to her fiancé still jabbering away into his cell phone. "He's about to sign this deal with Japan. I mean that's what I think. He's been on chattering away for at least two days so I haven't been able to get the full story."

I looked her up and down one more time before coming up with a reply. The whole outfit must have cost at least $2000, money I'll never own or even see. And probably when they left, a private jet was awaiting on a private run way to carry them to Fiji or somewhere else exotic so then, after the deal was signed, they'd have beach sex for hours and hours and hours...

"Reid, hello. Can you hear me?" A perfectly manicured hand was waving in front of my face.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just a little bit— nothing."

"Could you point me towards the bathroom? The flight over here was more or less hell in the sky." She laughed again, the sound like a wind running over smoothed stones and water.

I pointed towards around the corner towards the back of the restaurant and she nodded, brilliantly smiling again, before gliding away. I watched her go and began to think.

A lifetime and a half ago, we used to be even. Money, status, looks; she was just where I was. In high school we were both beautiful, popular and even had a little bit of extra cash in our pockets, giving us the power to do whatever we wanted. We were also the best of friends. Then high school ended. My mother had apparently left me with nothing (as in no inheritance) and I had never had a day of honest work in my life. I lost every cent I had, moved in with an out of date P.E coach and became dead last in society. The world around me changed so sharply and so fast, from time to time I couldn't breathe. Friends became enemies, and Ani Clark became engaged to the heir of Kenner Enterprises.

Something occurred to me so suddenly, I swore I heard the whoosh of realization fly by me. I wasn't in awe of Ani. Her beauty didn't blow me away. I hated her, how she left me to fend for myself in the underworld, how she forgot those days of summer secrets and late night passwords. I hated her. She meant nothing to me.

Ani hummed as she rounded the corner again. My eyes darted back from the reflection in the mirror so I could see the girl who ruined my life flaunt everything she had like she didn't care. She hopped up onto the counter and kicked the $500 dollar sandals up and down.

"I really wish he would hurry up," she muttered nodding towards Jennings. "The house is getting really lonely."

Yeah, all five stories of it, you bitch.

"But, in any case, how have you been?" Ani swung around and smiled her award-winning smile.

"Busy. Working. Tired." I replied shortly. I was waiting for the confused look to appear across her face but it never came. She managed to hide the fact that she had no idea what the feeling of being exhausted was like. Conning people was what she did best; I shouldn't have been so surprised. My latest epiphany now invoked a particular surge of rage towards the girl who had it all. "Not all of us can live the penthouse life. We don't all have servants that wipe our asses for us."

That just caused her to laugh, unable to grasp the fact that the girl who stood next to her loathed everything she was and is and will become. Ani still lived in the world where no one can hate as deeply as I could.

"God, Reid, you always had such a great sense of humor," Ani giggled again and put a slender hand on my shoulder. Almost immediately, I snatched her around the wrist and shoved it away, glaring as fiercely as I could.

There was a momentarily crease in her marble face before Kennings stood up and snap his phone shut.

"Come on, babe. This is a hook line and sinker. Want to go to Rome?"

Ani's golden eyes glittered in happiness and she leapt off the counter to give her boyfriend a deep hug, followed by a slobbery kiss.

"Bye, Reid," she finally said and Jennings put his hand into one of the back pockets of her summer shorts, steering her out of the restaurant. "It was good to see you. _Au revoir_!"

The clear door swung shut behind them and the shadows disappeared into the bright sun.

"_Au revoir_!" I furiously kicked the counter, then swung my hips to the side and flicked my wrist over my shoulder, mocking the stupid bitch. "_Au revoir_!"

"This is perfect. Mr. Jennings will be so impressed." Freddie appeared from the backroom, a Kleenex stuffed into a frightfully white shirt as elegant plumage. He stared around the room and his face fell. Something crumbled inside me and hate bit my skin as it rushed in my veins.

"Yeah, your lover came and went without so as much as a hello to you," Words up heaved from the back of my throat, clearing away the burning sensation growing there. "If you can get your head out from his ass then you'll see he doesn't give a damn about anything but the amount of zeros in his bank account. Stop trying to make yourself something you're not, come out of the less-than-obvious closet and get the hell on with life."

The thing about blunt honesty, it's the most liberating experience you can have. Freddie watched me leave the restaurant with his mouth slightly agape and I felt wave of excellent peace burrow into my chest, leaving me completely indifferent to what I had just said to my boss and the memories Ani had brought back.

* * *

It was the time of year in which the Northern Hemisphere is finally caught in its own tracks and forced to stop and look at what was happening around it. Leaves were changing. There was the occasional burst of cold and dry wind, shaded with the prospect of freezing rain and snow. Skies were darker than normal and sometimes the world was engulfed in thick clouds that threatened to bring a never-ending frost upon the earth below. Then the next day, the signs of winter would be gone and summer would try to establish its hold on the world again. Yet, with each passing of day and of night, summer was loosing its grip and the icy winds from winter were blowing away the last remaining fingers of warmth and bright sunlight.

I strode forcefully through the busy streets of Manhattan, desperately trying to lose myself in the massive stream of human population. I wanted to become nothing in the sea of people, just one more water drop with a face, a number, a statistic. The other waves crashed against me. They pushed and sidled me to and fro, almost falling as I stumbled along. Drowning and barely moving forward in the mass of human beings, I finally felt content.

One particularly large man was in a hurry and it only took a forceful shove from one of his broad shoulders to send me tripping into a convenience store window. I had been here many times before and had even shoplifted from it more than a decent amount, due to the terrible lax in security. Memories and feelings were swooping up to my throat from my stomach, and I was just about to dive back into the crowd when something in the store window caught my eye. It was a poster boasting about the new technical advances the store had taken to prevent thieves from taking whatever they liked. Most people saw comfort and reassurance. I saw a challenge.

Pushing back the clear door and hearing a familiar tingle of the bell, I smirked and walked over to the poster to get a better look. The Asian clerk at the desk looked up as I came in, which only encouraged me further: he had never met me or seen me before, so of course he wouldn't call the cops the moment I cause the doorbell to ring. Immediately he glanced back down at the crossword lying on the desk and tapped the bouncy eraser on his pencil several times to the counter, not giving me another moment's glance. This caused a fierce jolt of pleasure to erupt in my veins. The cosmos was edging me on.

Apparently, there was a security camera now installed, along with special bar codes that would call the cops the moment anyone tried to pass through the front door without paying. My favorite installation came next. Actually getting out of the door was probably the most magnificent feat due to the fact that sensors placed five feet from the doors would detect any unpaid products and immediately shut down the store, steel-locking the gates as to prevent anyone from leaving until the cops arrived. This was my calling and I already had a plan. I had to be fast, and quick and strong to pull this off.

I selected a bottle of Jack Daniel's as my prize. If I was caught, why not be caught with something classy? And if I wasn't, I should have the best as my reward. Thankful for once in my life that I wore gloves, I opened one of the many freezer doors that held racks and racks of soft drinks, beers, energy drinks and of course my beloved Jack Daniels. I reached for a diet Dr. Pepper up at the top shelf, while with the other hand I pulled the bottle of alcohol and dropped it in my coat pocket. I mimed the impression of looking at the drink with interest, as though wondering to buy it or not before shrugging and returning the Dr. Pepper to the hole on the shelf.

I ran a careless hand against the candy, again acting out the façade that I was still here to purchase something. Bags of chips crunched under my hands and I shifted them back and forth. Finally I turned to the cashier and held up a dollar bill.

"Anything for this?"

The moment was coming. The adrenaline was sitting in the dead center of my heart, waiting to be pumped out through the rush of blood that would course around my body as I ran from the police. My hand was shaking I was so excited, but to not tip the man off just yet, I put away my hand and the dollar.

The man shook his head, without even glancing up.

"Get more money then come back. They don't pay me enough to take crap money like that."

"Then I'll have to just drink this here."

It was time. I pulled the bottle of Jack Daniels out of my coat and unscrewed the lid. I heard a gasp. There was a rush of pure excitement, and then I heard the sirens.

"Thank you so much." I grinned, which now only frightened the man more as he stood, back against the wall and trying as fast as he could to get into hiding. I laughed loudly and bolted out the door as the metal bars closed down.

* * *

The wind was fierce as it bit into my face and whistled harshly into my ears. I hadn't seen the cop cars but I knew they were close, fruitlessly trying to find the thief. Maybe I should double back, run through an alleyway so they could see me. As I dashed around a corner, the violent screeching became louder and a cop car pulled out from five streets behind me. An arrogant and giddy laugh belted out from my chest, forcing me to breath in the prickly air and setting my senses on fire. The cop had seen me and I started to run like hell. Down a thin street I went, and the playing field was evened.

As I ran, the faceless cop was ordering backup because this girl was disturbingly fast, probably high on something. She was running like a mad man up the street, occasionally zigzagging through the street and up onto the sidewalk. The cop had no idea how much fun the deranged girl was having.

But, as only human, I could only out run cop cars in a narrow road for so long. This path dumped us out at the underbelly of the Manhattan Bridge, near the water. Now the cops had to go on foot to follow me. Five or so men dressed in dark blue were running, desperately trying to keep up but all I had to do was flit a few feet and they were momentarily gone from my sight.

I weaved around the right foot of the bridge and just as the men reached the top of a hill, I shoved over some loosening metal where the screws had broken down and I dove inside.

There was a minute of silence before the five passed by me, completely unaware that their culprit stood less than a foot from them.

I waited for the silence to return before howling with laughter and slumping to the floor. The Jack Daniels inside of my coat bumped me to remind me of my prize and with an increasingly light head, I opened the tab again and drank until tears ran out of my eyes and my cheeks. I sat, red-faced and smiling before getting up to make it back into the center of town. The metal columns that supported the Manhattan Bridge were open the underground, which led to the sewers and hence back up in downtown. I drank heartily again before starting my walk.

Jack Daniels had never tasted so good, but perhaps that was because the taste of pure victory didn't linger on the rim of regular bottles as it did with my prize. I peeled back a grimy metal gate and whistling a tune with no words, I slipped down into the black sewers. The Jack Daniels made me sing and dance while surrounded by smells that would make even the most iron of stomachs heave. I continued along, the sewers made into the shape of stone cylinders, the floor cut with dirty water down the middle.

And then, without a single doubt in my mind, I realized I wasn't alone.

It was as though someone had dosed me in ice-cold water then blown an Alaskan wind my way. Every hair was standing on end and my mind was perfectly clear, focused and alert. The rats that scuttled several walls away, I could hear them as they scrambled in the search of food, pillaging through the dirt. A smell like a thousand dead bodies mixed with all the dirty water of the world left out in the sun to bake for years suddenly clamped down on my nostrils. I snarled in disgust and suddenly the smell was lessened. A roach had fallen into the water and I knew it was there. My hands felt as though tiny waves were pressing themselves into my palms, like I could feel the roach's futile efforts to keep itself from drowning. The water that dripped so far away now was a leak in my ear, pounding with sound and a reverberating _plop_. Then there was something else.

Before, with the rats and the roach, they were _there_. Present. Alive. Having that undeniable sense of simply being, no matter how small the life may be; each one of those sewer animals had it. Yet now, the thing that was close, getting closer, had none of it. It was not an animal and it was certainly not human. In a flash of horror, _it's not alive_, crossed my mind. Like instinct, the acute attentiveness that had suddenly bloomed inside of me reached out into the dark blue sewer and it retreated immediately because when I touched it, there was no heartbeat. I could hear no breathing, no rustle of hair or clothing, but I knew something was there. It was a shadow without a body to give it form.

It was cold and frightening—

Frightening, that's not the right word. No, not at all. Standing frozen in a dirty sewer and awake for the first time in my life, I was petrified. The thing was black. Not the color but the description of the Endless Abyss, the sort of thing that sucks you in, crushing you from the inside out, ripping you to pieces and slowly, painfully, soaking up the being that you are; that was at the very core of what was following me. It was nothing but black.

For once in my life something was so abundantly clear, I could not refuse my instinct. I had to run until the wind carried me because it did not want a human to be faster than it. But even then, part of my head was telling me running wouldn't do a thing. Giving up was not an option either; the alertness told me that.

Finally, I moved. I moved into a crouch, one foot steadily in front of the other and going faster, a large spacing mounting between us but it followed me. I went faster and faster, the thing moving just enough to open a flood of fear inside of me. Through a maze of wet walkways and empty tunnels I went, momentarily considering punching my way through stone to the surface, if I could. Fear was eating my stomach and if I was in there for much longer, the scream I was holding in would shatter my lungs.

The wet metal ladder in sight was a miracle. My hand slipped slightly as I grasped onto the sides and shimmed up. Bursting through the manhole like the flames of hell were on my heels, I flung myself out of the sewers and slammed the metal cover back into its place.

I was somewhere around the southern part of downtown, near the area by the Bronx. It was late, with very little people around. A car occasionally passed by but for the most part, I was alone.

The clarity was gone. I couldn't hear sounds fifty feet away. I couldn't feel the taps of millions of feet walking on the cement. My vision was even a little blurry. Suddenly my breath caught up and my lungs contracted. I gasped, tears pouring down from my eyes. My arms couldn't hold me and I scuttled back to a brick wall to try and breathe. I was shaking so fiercely I thought I would throw up. My body felt like jelly and I folded to the ground, the cold cement weirdly feeling warm to my cheek.

He was going to kill me. He was going to murder me in the sewers and no one would find my body for weeks. The jaws of Death had their teeth pricking me and by luck I had escaped them.

I think at that point, I fell asleep for several hours. For what seemed to be a blink of an eye, the black sky had melted into a purple, then a lighter purple then an angelic pink. It was then I hoped to any god that the danger was gone. By this, the very early morning light, I made my way home.

Taking a taxi never occurred to me for as I walked, practically in a stupor, the memories I viciously tried to escape the previous day were filling my mind like a toxic gas. My head was beginning to hurt and my stomach felt sick. A light was trying very hard to turn on in my head but I refused to let it. The night that my mother was killed and tonight felt so similar it made my skin itch. If allowed to speak my thoughts aloud without being considered completely crazy, I would say without hesitation, that the man who murdered my mother was the same man who followed me last night. The feeling of being cynically dead is not the aura most people carry around. And that night was the most terrified I've ever been in my life, tonight being the only exception. In a normal world, I would go to the police and report my case. But after running from the cops after robbing a store, I doubt they would do anything but handcuff me and keep me in jail as long as they can. I was going to have to protect myself, alone as always.

I unlocked my apartment door, kicked off my shoes and fell into bed, sleep coming so fast it knocked me out.


	3. Chapter 3: Death That Followed

Chapter 3: Death That Followed, that Haunted And That Finally Killed

Again, I was running. Again eleven, in tights and terrified, screaming; I was trying to out run death. The screams were tightening my chest and tears were filling the corners of my eyes and I even coughed but out of fear and confusion, the screams continued to rip across the air night. The second scream joined mine and falling without control, I tumbled to the pavement, tearing open a hole in my tights that had opened and closed a thousand times, threads sowing closed and ripping again each time I dreamed of this night. My tiny head turned to see my mother fall, slowly like a tree, to the ground and her victor walk away.

What now?

Then I blinked and trees of ungodly height surrounded me. Pockets of stars and the night sky peeked through the canopy fifty feet above the ground. Though it was dark, I knew my skin was the color of dark ash. Fear was beating against my heart but there was new sensation that was more powerful than anything I had felt before. It was the same thick warmness I felt as I slept in Dina's room. I didn't scream as I looked around and saw four, three-legged animals circling me. They were hissing and squealing, clearly pissed. One leapt but I step-sided it, grabbed one of its webbed feet and ripped it from its scaly leg. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in my neck. Pale hands grabbed my shoulders and I gasped. The things that had been circling me before looked frightened then slithered off. I closed my eyes—

—then woke up on top of a medieval castle balcony. In my hands I held a bloody cloth. My arms were covered in a lacey pink material that moved in the softest wind. I heard a grunt and looked up to see something big and blue glaring at me as something oozed out of the side of its mouth. Without my direction, my hands lifted up the pale pink dress and pulled out a piece of wood threateningly. Any fear I previously felt melted away with the wood in my hands. The blue monster in front of me snarled.

"Let's end this now, Slayer," it growled and leapt forward.

We tumbled backwards and I cracked my head against the wooden door. I felt horribly sick and suddenly the blue things eyes turned an electric green and a wild hiss erupted from its throat as fangs appeared from its open mouth. It bent down and proceeded to eat out my heart.

I screamed again. I was in my own room, in Manhattan, New York. I was in my own bed and safe in my city. My skin was wet, my hair was wet, my face was wet, the bed was wet, with sweat. Suddenly my back went numb and I collapsed into the mattress, the impact shaking the bed ever so slightly. Freezing, I pulled my legs to my stomach and shivered.

These weren't normal dreams. When I was thirteen, I was diagnosed with night terrors. The doctors said it could be post-traumatic stress finally rocketing to the surface, but they began before my mother died. True enough, however, to the doctor's diagnosis, they got especially violent afterwards. I would wake up with my throat dry, tears fresh on my face and my chest on fire, screaming like a mute person trying to make noise. There would be red welts on my arms and on the skin around my heart, like I had been trying to remove flesh from bone.

Now, in Manhattan, I could see the red blood shining even in the dark. The night terrors finally stopped when I turned sixteen, but apparently they weren't gone for good. The walls seemed to close up as I tried to melt into the stucco beside the bed.

As much as I hated to admit it, maybe Dina was right. I was getting restless with my mother's death day approaching. Old memories were mixing with my imagination and the result was truly terrifying.

I knew I shouldn't go back to sleep. I shouldn't. But tonight, the nightmares had defeated anything that resembled a fighting spirit and to fight back, I just couldn't do it.

*~*~*

"Get up, come on! Dr. Zwangel's aquarium/zoo only comes around the country once every five years and guess where they are today? Call me back!"

"Hey, I've got Starbucks and two tickets to the Red Socks game. You still like hotdogs right? Gimme a call back and we can plan."

"I'm trying to decide if to paint my bathroom or the living room turquoise. You wanna give me a call back before I make some horrible mistake?"

"Reid. Get out of bed. Look, you can't stay in bed all day. You're going to have to face the world some time. It's not my business but you seriously need to call me back or I'm going to call the cops."

I groaned from underneath two pillows and shoved the earplugs haphazardly deeper into my ears. Dina had been calling for the better part of five hours, occasionally leaving messages that made me want to punch out my own ears. After the fourth, I reached a pillow from the top of my mountain and threw it as hard as I could towards the answering machine and phone. I heard it collide with something and a plastic something clattered to the ground. I grinned and rolled over, pulling the covers up to my chin.

Oh, God.

It's today. That was why she had called so many times and left disgustingly cute messages. She was trying to distract me, make me think about anything else but this. The day that I had been trying so hard to avoid had crept up on me so unexpectedly, I felt as though there was a bomb planted somewhere close by and it would detonate at any moment.

Dina was trying to make me get out of the house and not think that today was the day my mother was murdered right in front of me.

I rolled out of my bed, my feet prickling as they touched the cold floor. The clock on my bedside table read 10:32 A.M. The job at Bonanza had started a long time ago. Should I even bother showing up?

I glanced out the window, hot and cold air battling out their eternity-long war on my windowpane, creating a fog from which outside objects are swirled into a haze. Yawning and deciding work was for another day, I walked over to the window and smoothed away some of the fog. Manhattan never quit, even though sometimes I considered doing so. People, buses, cars, bicycles moved constantly, tirelessly and I yawned again, watching them all from my window.

*~*~*

In a matter of minutes, I had my running "gear" on and an extra windbreaker was tied around my waist. Even five feet away from the window, I could feel the cold clenched around the building, trying to wiggle one of its determined fingers under a door crack to freeze anything that came into its path. Running had been chosen as my appropriate bullet-biting distraction and the apparent conditions outside would be welcoming. The thought of the coma-inducing, frost-bite-causing cold was a dream I severely hoped to come true.

I hopped down the staircase, warming up my cold heart. I shook my legs and ankles, preparing them too. Then through the door I went, and immediately got hit by a blast of ferociously cold air. I swam through it, my hands freezing for a second onto the metal of the revolving door. But now outside, it wasn't that bad, just that numbing cold that could needle its way into every muscle, bone and nerve in your body if you let it. But I wouldn't. I started jogging, pacing my way down the street, going faster as I went.

Then as I hit the street corner, freedom began. Blood started flowing fast and hot from my head to my feet. I could feel the pulse in my ankles and heels as each dashing step brought me forward. Sticky, warm air fogged in front of me as I panted. The flower shop passed me by so quickly I barely noticed. Around a stop sign and down a hill. Cross a street. Up onto the sidewalk and onto the gravel path. As I bounded through the park gates, the first marker went off in my head. One mile down. Seven to go.

*~*~*

The sight of the empty, abandoned park was an oasis in a desert. A slight early morning snow had crisped the ground, matching the miles of once golden trees and warm grass to the dank, grey clouds in the sky. As it was a day in the dead middle of the week, mostly everyone was at school or work, or not stupid enough to come out in freezing temperatures unless they needed to be. I liked to consider myself not a particularly dumb individual so my reason for being outside, alone, on a frightfully bleak morning was to think of nothing in particular. When I awoke this morning, I did not immediately think of the park as my escape but now the idea seemed brilliant.

I came to an icy bench, shoved away some snow with my hand covered in the sleeve of a jacket, and sat down. Above me the murky clouds were constantly swirling and changing, moving and shifting, but from my glance towards the enforcers of winter, they looked perfect still. As one giant curtain covering the entire sky, maybe the entire galaxy, the clouds surrounding my world were blank and empty even though they held so much potential for other things. I knew at any given moment they could pour down buckets of icy rain, or sneeze softly and send snowflakes twirling down from nowhere. They could move away and the sun would return to remind us there still is a light somewhere. Either way, they could be anything but for as of this moment, they were silent and still as an empty canvas and that was exactly what I wanted my harassed mind to be.

For a moment, I considered going to sleep, right there on that park bench.

In the breadth between sleep and reality I heard a sound that scared me and nearly brought me to tears. It was a child's laughter. A child at play was laughing hysterically. I opened my eyes to see my seven-year-old self run through the snow in the field in front of the bench, pick up a snowball and throw it at the redheaded woman behind her.

"Got you, Mommy!" The little girl squealed. The woman smiled and laughed then picked up a snowball from the ground and threw it at her daughter.

"Nope, I got you!"

The girl let out something between a playful scream and a laugh as her mother tackled her to the ground, throwing snow into the air.

The woman and her daughter had rolled down the hill so I could barely see them now, but their voices were still as clear as day.

"Mommy, after this lets sit on that bench up on that hill and have lunch."

"Ok, sweetie, it's your birthday, we can do whatever you want."

Now back in present times, I leapt from the bench, the seat scalding me from head to toe. Out of all the benches in the entire park, I had to sit on _this_ one. How could I forget that birthday? What I had hoped would remove me from painful memories had brought on something that slashed me in half. I bounded up from the seat and started to run away down the path.

I sprinted into the wooded path area and closed my eyes, hopeful silence cracking inside of me. The wind was more intense in here, dashing around close trees to bite me in the face. I could hear no animals, no rustle of wind-pushed leaves. Nothing put pure silence and the echo of my breathing and the scratching sound of my sneakers ripping in the gravel. Once again I was breathing in emptiness and the blank canvas appeared in my head.

My stomach hurt even before I heard it. The childish laughter had followed me but now it came from a child that was older than the one out in the snow. Colored in grey I ran through an autumn forest now, where life was still present and games were still played. A redheaded mother and her daughter raced around the thick oaks, laughing and giggling. The mother lunged for the little girl, who turned at the last moment to run to the other side of another tree.

"Since when did you get so fast?" The mother panted, which only made the girl giggle harder.

"Maybe I was always this fast and I just let you win." The little girl danced around the tree as her mother tried to catch her breath.

"No, I think it's from all that broccoli I've been feeding you. Or maybe it is in your genetics and I'm Super Mom. Haha!"

She struck a pose as a weight lifter and the little girl erupted into happy squeals. She leapt onto her mother and they tumbled backwards into a heap of crunchy leaves.

"You're the best mom ever. I love you."

"I love you too&"

"Damn it!"

I, as the rest of the world, was colored again in a blanket of grey and snow and no life. Again, free from the torturous lock of almost forgotten memories, I now veered off the path and slammed my fist into a tree trunk. There was a sharp pain in my four knuckles and I gasped for a moment, relieved by the pain. But then as I stood, staring at the blood coming from the open wounds, I remembered every single moment I had with my mother in this park; every smell, every sight, every sound, every happy emotion, coming back to slap me in the face, furious that I had drowned them out for so long.

Running, for the first time in my life, was not the way to solve my problems.

I was nauseated but I knew throwing up would not remove the knotted, sick feeling that jumbled the inside of my stomach. As a child, I wanted to be able to fly and now again I did, just so I wouldn't have to spend one more second in this torturous park, where a torrent of memories was clamping down on me so harshly I felt like a captive in my own mind. Shivering not from the cold, I turned down a path and tried, without success, to block out the onslaught of painful remembrances.

*~*~*

After running half-blind through the twilight streets and weaving through the sea of people frantic to get home, I stumbled into an artificial brightly lit area and hit a glass wall. I looked up and saw that I was outside of the Burger Bonanza. Guilt reflected from the restaurant almost as brightly as the neon lights that bathed it in a fake stream of an almost greenish glow. My mother would be appalled to know I worked at this grease-trap and as confused and shaken as I was, my feet unconsciously steered me to the one place that even the mere memory of my mother would refuse to step inside. The hell that had caused numerous outrages at myself, at the people around me, and the fights between what should be my superior and I was now the last solace in the world left.

The clear door squeaked as I threw my weight upon the bar, and stumbled onto the white floor when the door easily gave way. An unconscious hand ran up and down my crossed arms in an act of comfort. For a moment, I thought the restaurant was closed and someone forgot to lock up. But then I heard the soft scuffle of feet and Freddie appeared from behind the back. The clipboard and the plumage were gone. His hair was slightly rumpled and he wore a withered look on his once proud face.

I stared at him and he stared back. For the first time I could not read this man's face. He usually wore an expression of exasperation, or even happiness, or the almost constant grin of arrogance, but now he just stared. As the minutes ticked by, I realized the expression he wore was similar to something I had seen before. Either it was a look given to me, or worn by my own face, I could not say but then when he glanced to the floor, then back up, his brown eyes sad and tired, the appearance was placed. It was the same look Dina had been giving me, most prominently remembered when I had been brought back to her apartment a night ago.

Comprehension slammed into my chest and I turned away, almost wishing to leave through the clear door and into the surge of memories that waited outside. He sighed and I could not ignore him, horror and fear making me unable to resist the sound. His shoulders were hunched, as though a great weight was pulling on his back. His eyes bore wrinkles I had not noticed before. Freddie was tired.

"I'm not going to apologize-," I snarled, the words coming out before I could stop them. But he acted like he hadn't heard me.

"If you want to work, the late shift starts in fifteen minutes," Freddie replied tonelessly. "I'm recording stock in the back. Eric and Carol should be arriving any minute. They get here on time."

Freddie's brown creased for a moment as though he didn't mean to say his last statement, trying too hard to hide just how furious in fact he was, trying to remain as indifferent as he could. Then he regained his more-than frosty demeanor and disappeared again behind the wall that divide the grill area to the cashier.

I accepted this and went to change. Then I decided to do the other thing that my mother would reject most of all.

*~*~*

Gray smoke rushed into my lungs, and evaporated into my body, releasing all tension, I could feel it. I arched my back up the brick wall, exhaling the smoke into the night. The gray cloud that had engulfed me now separated me from the ghosts that almost immediately tried to swarm me when I left the Bonanza; they now swirled away with every sharp breath out, a breath filled with toxic fumes. Peace for the night was finally found as I stood, cold and smoking outside of a fast-food restaurant, figments of years past only a grasp away.

Every year since the death of my mother, I had spent the anniversary in moments like these. I rarely smoked, unless on this sort occasion. The last time a cigarette burned my mouth and lungs was a few months ago, when Ani had stayed for a week while Jennings tried to fix up a stock drop here in Manhattan. She visited the Bonanza everyday. I found a pack of cigarettes at the bottom of my sock drawer and that probably saved my life. Now I needed the sheer reassurance of the burn again, the knowledge that with every breath there would be a vicious, searing pain in my chest, which was enough to keep my head above water.

The clear door slammed shut beside me and Freddie left in a rush, signaling for my turn at the window. A patched scarf fluttered off behind him, hiding the baby-boy complexion and finally, he disappeared in a screen of dark black night mixed with white breath. He was gone.

*~*~*

That was the first night in a very long time I had stayed awake during the whole night, apposed to a terrified, interrupted sleep and when the moments of decent sleep came, I would sit up, cold and sick, flashes of thousands of monsters appearing every time I blinked.

Coffee did not touch my lips once, nor did it tempt me. I stood for the full seven hours, knowing customers would not come, but I was willing to stay in here as long as need be to keep the distractions going until the final hours of this day weaned away. There was one spot on the stucco where I stared at until the wall of black night that enclosed the tiny restaurant slowly melted into an open backdrop of purple. It was then, when the death day had passed and memories were suppressed until another year, did the clear door swing open and a cool breeze introduced a dark man to the front of the restaurant.

He was thick, solid straight through, and his dark jacket covered a grey sweatshirt. The sweatshirt's hood was lifted over his face and as he turned towards a table, I could have swore in the second his face flashed under a florescent light, a jagged scar smudged his right eye. He was seemingly no different than the rest of the gruesome customers that we served everyday. So I expected him to come loping up to the counter and order our "double ouncer quarter pounder", famished after a particularly late night repaving a road. Yet he never moved from his booth but only took out a coke can, a flask and poured the brown contents of the flask into the can. He sat for a moment before taking a large sip from the can, and then slowly lowered his head onto the table.

If Freddie had been here, he would have immediately shoed away the bum, but the man wasn't breaking anything or doing anything illegal that I could see so what did it matter to me to let the guy get a little extra sleep before leaving to do a job none of us would dare do because we consider ourselves far better than manual labor.

The man's arrival had broken me from almost a dream-like state, where hours lasted minutes, and I suddenly realized I was parched. With his arms resting his head, the man was indefinitely asleep by now, and so, I turned towards the back grill. Two young kids, around Tom's age, were fast asleep around a table, two bottles of empty beer stood next to their relaxed hands, which held four poker cards. Eric and Carl had apparently made it and agreed with me as to the amount of customers that would come through the clear door that night. I didn't mind that I was the only one awake. In fact, I was glad to prolong the moment those horrible nightmares would return. But now that the day had passed, perhaps the frequent occurrences of those nightmares would slow, maybe even cease. I could only hope. I poured myself a large cup of ice water and drank two large gulps before refilling it all the way and returning to my post.

When I came back to the counter, I saw that the man was gone. He left nothing behind, here and gone for a precious couple of minutes. I shrugged it off: there was nothing too unusual about the burly man that had stopped in here. But as I went back to the counter, my legs finally realizing how tired they were, I saw something on the table that had not been there before. It was a small slip of paper.

I sucked on the straw, the cold blast in the back of my throat waking me up from a daylong reverie. I then moved towards the table and picked up the scrap of paper and opened it.

_Slayer, _

_ Have you awakened?_

So, fear wasn't inspiring insanity inside of me after all. My conclusion in the sewers was dead on and now my only regret was not listening to myself for once.

I was being stalked, and it was not safe. It was time to do something about it.

*~*~*

It was cold and everything was blurry when I left the Bonanza. The wind was lapping at my heels and scraping at my scarf and coat to get at my neck and back. But I turned against it; I leaned away from the cruel wind and kept walking firmly, one foot right in front of the other. My mind was straying, slowly becoming insanely focused on my step, but I realized that if I was off guard for a moment, he, who ever it was, would come back and take me away. My head snapped around, my hair flipping in the movement and wind, when I heard something behind me. It was a plastic bag scrunching away on the ground. The wind finally scooped up the bag and threw it into the pink light. The morning sky was beautiful, assuring to most people that the following day was going to be safe and secure. But I knew those days were long past.

Whether it was fear removing common sense, or the terror that I would inadvertently step into the back seat of the man that had been haunting every place I went, I refused to hail a cab and walked the seven miles through streets, alleys and cold wind to finally find protection.

Eventually, the numbness overcame the cold and I barely recognized that I had arrived. The bottom of the door squeaked as I pushed it open. The balding man at the counter looked up and smiled.

"Welcome to GreenSmith Hunting Guns."

I looked up at him, and his warm greeting was rebuked. He frowned and went back to reading his magazine. As I passed the front counter, I saw in the reflective mirror up in the corner that I wore a scowl that frightened even myself.

In her early years, Dina was an avid deer hunter, her father taking her out each weekend to teach her how to handle a gun and aim like sniper. After my mother died and I started to live with Dina, she drove us out to her father's land and tried to teach me some old moves. The only gun handling I ever paid attention to was the handgun, a pistol, a Magnum. Although, as I passed through rows and shelves of guns, I was fairly certain I could load, cock and shoot even the hunting rifle.

It sat at the far back, mounted among shotguns and the 22 rifles. It was black and sleek and promised security. A Magnum 55 Eagle. I took it off the wall and held it in both palms. The weight felt good, something solid. I hope to never use it, but I was obscenely glad to have it.

"That's a nice choice." I turned to see the man watching me with great interest, a grin on his thick lips. Apparently he had forgotten my glare at my arrival and was becoming increasingly impressed with my choice in weapons.

A sudden grin of pride ghosted my lips and I ran a tentative hand over the black metal. The fields of white wheat appeared in my mind and the smell of wind mixed with baked bread filled my nose, blowing my imagination full of autumns spent out in the New Jersey countryside. Dina attempted to make me forget about my life in Manhattan by shooting away everything that moved. She was trying to life bearable again and I just threw it in her face. My hands unconsciously clenched as I thought of another year that went by, every day Dina trying to pull me back into the world.

"Hold up there, little lady. Don't squeeze that too hard." The man at the front was now walking towards me, a worried frown pulling his forehead down. "You do know how to work these things, don't you?"

"Of course," I snapped. "And this is what I want. Ring it up."

The man nodded and took the gun from me reluctantly. I followed him to the register, watched punch in the ID numbers of the gun and then looked expectantly up at me.

"Your license, please."

"I don't have the card with me. Look up the number. Name, Dina Wilcox. Phone number 1-656-555-3072."

The man typed as I spoke and nodded when I finished. He ran the gun through a metal swipe and handed me a small case, which I knew was full of bullets.

"Have a nice day."

I was suddenly entranced by the smoothness of the top of the gun and the rough handle.

"Yeah, you too," I murmured. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man give me another funny look but I simply ignored it and left the store.

Turning left I ventured into a dark alley and opened the case of bullet. My thumb clicked onto the hard button and the bottom of the gun fell out, bearing the empty rounds. I picked up one bullet, slipped it into its holder and loaded the gun. There was a sudden rush from my fingertips up through my arm as my hands slid the pushback with a sharp click. I pushed the safety button and with one hand shaking, I put the gun in the back of my jeans, covering it with my corduroy jacket. With one press of a small button, no one would dare to cross paths with me.

Feeling as though every eye in the world was giving me a reproachful glance, I tossed the case of bullets into the street where it skidded into the sewers. Then with one more glance around, I left, a need, as I'd never felt before to see Dina, rising in my throat.

*~*~*

It felt strange to know that a day had passed and all I did was realize my life was in jeopardy and in retaliation bought a gun. I could have gone to the police but they would only handcuff me and keep me behind bars until someone paid bail. Banks might have saved me from the drunk-tank once in a while but his actions did not go unheard in the police headquarters. Frankly I was surprised he hadn't been fired yet. Not that I cared.

Now prepared, I whistled to a taxi and waited a second before a yellow shiny cab pulled up in front of me and I climbed in. I told the Egyptian man the address and he sped off, clearly not interested in me (except for my money) in the slightest. Sinking low into the seat, hiding from the windows, at last I was calm.

*~*~*

"Hey, ma'am, up." A heavy hand hit my knee and I jerked awake. "Up. We are here."

The cabbie pointed out the window and I saw the concrete wall, surrounded by foliage and a sign that read Green Moss Apartment Complex. The man held out a tan hand for his payment. My hand reached inside my coat pocket and pulled out a twenty.

"Keep the change. Buy a hat to cover that balding spot."

The man grunted, whether he understood me or not, and stuck the bill into a metal box under his seat. I opened the door and stepped out in the cold. As the cabbie drove away, the door slammed shut and I smiled.

With a sudden rush of homesickness, I thought of Dina. The sun was setting far off in the distant, over the tops of the trees and sending the sky into a twirling mix of pink and grey and gold. Tomorrow was nearly here, by my standards, and maybe within two days my life could reach something back to normality, instead of the normal week. Maybe I wouldn't be in so much pain for too much longer.

Suddenly, my smile began to melt away like syrup near a flame. That wave of awareness suddenly crashed into me again, causing me to stumble and fall to the ground. The wave then pulled out into the growing blackness around me and set the world into sharp angles. Lights from surrounding stores suddenly were suddenly blinding, blues and golds and whites and greens hitting me straight in the eyes, causing a sharp pain to electrocute the back of my head and for one of my forearms to raise up, trying to block out the lights. Sounds from the underground subway that stood twenty feet below shook my brain, sending a violent ringing into my ears. A thousand murmuring voices leapt into my head and vibrations from thudding footsteps threw me into my own private earthquake.

"Make it stop&" I begged.

And I felt the thing appear again. The swirling black of a figure came towards me, out of nowhere and it was now closer than it ever had been. Though in pain and slowly growing deaf and blind, I still recognized the terror crawling into my throat.

"Don't hurt me&"

A hand touched me and I jerked back in response, but I still couldn't stand. My only defense was to stare up at the unrecognizable figure with my eyes watering and my hands clamped over my ears. The hand grabbed my wrist and started to pull me, the motion turning my head and causing a new onslaught of sound, sight and feeling to come rushing into my head, racking my body and releasing any last thoughts to fight back.

*~*~*

When I woke, the world was back to its regular, bearable levels of sound and lights. The sun was gone and for the first time since I was three, I was terrified of the dark. Though I wasn't crying in pain from awareness, I could still feel someone close by. Either a figure made of vortex blackness or just a regular human, there was no real way of knowing, but they were there. As I awoke fully, I noticed I was lying against a brick wall and a dumpster. There was a light coming from the other side of the dumpster and very slowly, I sat up and crawled into the light.

Pain struck me again from the originally bright beam, but as it faded I saw a figure standing under the light pole.

"Hey, Reid."

The sultry voice that came from under the streetlight almost removed me from my skin. I scrambled to my feet and my hands became white-knuckled fists.

But the only figure that evolved from the blinding bright was Ani Clark. At first I could barely recognize her, a limping figure suffocated in dark surrounded by light. Then my eyes completely adjusted, and I saw she wasn't limping at all. She was playfully half-skipping. She stopped next to the lamppost and white marble fingernails ran up the pole. An albino snake-like arm wrapped around the metal post and she spun slowly, each foot taking sharp, exact steps, her pointed heels clicking on the pavement. Finally her head turned towards me and smiled, and that was possibly the most frightening part about her. Her grin was not one of joy or happiness, it was of white hot, animalistic fury.

"Oh, wow, tonight of all nights and you're the first one I run into&" She took a step, the blonde hair, smooth like silk drenched in blood, swept half her face away. "What a world, right?" She giggled, shaking on her head. Again, ankle-to-ankle she moved. She stepped into the alley, white spidery fingers scuttling over the brick of the next building. The wind moved the silk black skirt around her and pulled at her hair. The moon shown off her skin and again she smiled that furious smile. A hummed tune echoed out from her throat, breaking into the silence of the night. And then she laughed.

Suddenly, everything inside of me was screaming to run. Run far, far away. But my legs refused to move.

"How was Rome? All the servants to the right amount of perfection?"

Ani looked at me as though I was just an ignorant child. She glided towards me to where she was just a step ahead. Her head cocked to the side, in almost a curious expression, as though she was trying to remember something but couldn't. Ani smiled again. I tumbled backwards and her eyes lit up as though she remember what she had been thinking.

"Fine, all fine. But I came back here because, well, I don't like crowds& or audiences&" She murmured. She took another sharp step forward and the corner of the dumpster pinched into my back. As she came towards me, the florescent light bathed her in an oily green, for the first time showing all of her.

She was gaunt and pale, a ravished hunger in her eyes. Bruises spotted her arms and her hair was tangled and torn. She wore all black, like she had just seen the bad side of a funeral. Her hair swung back, showing her thin skinny neck and there just above her collarbone, a white thin scar laced her neck. Had I not been paralyzed with an almost painful fear, I would have mentioned something about that scar, for I had never noticed it before. But I responded to her out of habit.

"Look, I don't have time to deal with you, so if you've got something you want to say-,"

Ani cut me off with a sharp laugh. "It's not so much I want to say as so much what I want to do. Because they say, you know, actions speak louder than words."

I think she pushed me next. Her hair rippled, and next moment, I was flying backwards over the ground of the alleyway, a painful echo on my chest. Stars flickered in front of my eyes as the back of my head smashed into the brick wall. A dull thrumming began to pound in my temple and my vision blurred. I looked up through watery eyes and saw Ani staring wistfully up at the moon. Tonight, she looked like she wanted to take a piece from the sky and hold it near her. The wind blew at her again, and somewhere past the confusion and the pain in my head, I saw how beautiful she was. Ani turned her silver-coated face towards me, looking at me as sadly as she looked at the moon.

Then like a snake uncoiling, she launched, her mouth wide open, a horrible snarl ripping from her throat, and her eyes were gold, slit like a cat's. The area around her nose and eyebrows was broken and crumpled. Her canine teeth that had grown roughly an inch in length hung down and with a primal realization, I knew she wasn't human any longer.

_Damn it, Reid. Get up. This is bad. She is bad. Fight. _

She appeared in my face, hands pressed against the dumpster on either side of my head, her nostrils flared.

"I know you hate me and you will hate me more after this night, " she said. "What I take from you, no one can ever give back. And yet, I feel sorry for what I will do to you. Would you feel the same way if you were what I am?"

"Christ, Ani, what the hell is wrong with you?" I asked and tried to squirm away, then suddenly one of those white spiders struck my chin and bit down. I gasped as her talon-like fingernails sunk into my skin and blood ran down Ani's elbow.

Her nostrils went haywire. I saw the whites of her eyes for a moment and her jaw clenched and unclenched.

"You stupid girl!" Ani whispered with a strained voice. "You still have no concept of what you are or what I have become!"

Time stopped and the sick girl in front of me faded in and out of focus. Something was so very, sickly, disgustingly wrong. I felt lightheaded and woozy.

_Wake. Up. Reid. She'll kill you if you don't fight! _

Ani was looking at me with intense curiosity, her nose still twitching.

"There is life inside all of us," she muttered. "So much of it, it's overwhelming. We don't know what to do with ourselves. So we offer it up to who ever is willing to take it. "

Her nails bit harder. Starvation shown in her eyes and glittered like an inferno engulfing the world.

"Well, this must be your lucky day, Slayer."

Then, very carefully, she turned my head to the side, my chilled neck facing her directly. She was obscenely close, but I felt no breath from her on my skin. Suddenly, like a blast of ice wind ripping into a room, cold air wrapped its way onto my exposed neck, into my hair and my ear. If I had not goose bumps before, I was now directly doused in an inch of them. Needles pricked my skin, pure heat then burning cold.

"Ani," I groaned, the iron fist around my jaw making it almost impossible to talk. "What are you-"

Something to the equivalent to a pair of steak knives sunk into my neck and I screamed.

Pain was shooting out from my neck to every part of my body. It froze my fingers, pinched my back and carved at my legs.

The steak knives drove farther in, and I felt Ani's entire weight upon me. She was crushing me into the wall. I gasped: her weight and the immobile brick behind me were slowly cutting off my air. But she didn't seem to notice or care that I was dying.

The world went from black, to white, black to white and black. The pounding in my head had returned but now it clamped over my entire head like a bear trap, a pulse flickering throughout every vein.

_I can't breath_.

_I can't see_.

_I can't& I& can't&_

_*~*~*_

New fingers clenched onto the glass that sat below me. They held so tightly to a broken bottle on the ground, they burned with fresh blood. And then&. I swung.

Ani flung away from me, spinning like a top. Then she collided with the brick wall on the opposite end of the alley and I heard a disgusting snap. She didn't move after that.

Though it was not a particularly cold night, I could see my breath as I panted in the dark alley. My neck burned fiercely and the freezing blood was dripping onto the front side of my shirt. My hand was also bruised and bleeding, the bottle held loosely between the fingers. But, on that night, the only thought that crossed my mind was _why isn't she getting up_?

Ani lay crooked against the brick wall, her head sagging on her chest and dried blood on her chin. The bottle clattered as it rolled away when I leaned forward to Ani.

"Ani. Ani, wake up."

I took hold of the pointy shoulders and shook them hard. Her head rolled disturbingly free on her neck. Then the head fell back, the eyelids dropping open to show pale eyes, white and hungry.

No.

"Please, come on."

I reached for her wrist, to check for a pulse, and as I did, I smeared blood all over her milk-white forearm, her hand, those purple veins. I threw the arm to the ground, horrified.

My blood-covered hands latched onto the brick wall and started to scrub my palms against the rough brick. Tiny scratches were slowly appearing on my palms and fingers. Fresh blood droplets ran down between my fingers, the bruises on them becoming almost unbearable but I didn't stop. I had to get the blood off me. When it wouldn't, a wretched sob echoed out from my throat and I gasped, my lungs suddenly not working. I looked back at the girl's limp form.

"Ah-Ah-Ah-Ani, come on, please, _please_ wake up&." A tear splattered onto her pale face. Her face was like porcelain china, precious and very breakable. The rest of her body was like a tombstone. I shuddered, my stomach convulsing and my skin twitching until I leaned over and threw up.

Oh my God, I killed someone.

Again.

Corwin L Mavis. Cory. Oh, God.

I stood and stared at my blood-covered hands. They were tools of destruction, weapons of torture. Bleeding with unclaimed guilt, they stared blankly at me as though not knowing of their sin. The light behind me barely touched her twisted legs, covering the rest in pure blackness. From that, I turned and stumbled out into the street.

I wasn't taken by the undertow of alertness but even so, everything felt too bright and too big. Everything was shiny and sickly-sweet-smelling. A dull thud pounded in my ears as though the blood was slowly rushing to my head. I feared I was going to throw up again. My vision blurred, turning the world into one big rush of color. My legs felt weak and I stopped walking.

There was an obnoxiously loud screeching sound and I looked to see two bright lights engulf me. Something hard and metal slammed into my hips. Flying momentarily through the air, I then smashed into thick glass and metal, rolled on a cold surface then hit a hard something that sagged with my impact and popped me back out. I fell, hit the pavement and part of my face tore away. One of my wildly swinging arms curled under my back as I tumbled to a stop. I felt a pull and heard a crack in my shoulder. Pain leapt across my shoulder blades and ripped down my back.

I sobbed. Finally, I closed my eyes as I rolled one more time, my torn face resting on the cold pavement. There were sirens in the background and with this as a final satisfaction, unconsciousness carried me away.


	4. Chapter 4: Release

Chapter 4: Release

It was summer in New Mexico and I was six. By the way sunlight spilled in horizontal beams over everything, bringing along with it a sluggish, slow sleep, it was late afternoon. Heat waves bubbled up from the black pavement and the houses across the road shimmered and shook, the heat distorting color and light. Sweat clung to my small back, and the hot liquid ran from my forehead, rolling and splattering on the sidewalk. The hot air stifled life, sucking the marrow of it until everything under the sun was dry and cracked, dead. It even had the power to kill time; for in that moment outside of my house in New Mexico, nothing moved. Nothing stirred or turned. With the sun trapping them, making them drowsy and tired, while they were unguarded, the heat would slowly burn them, shriveling away at skin and grass. The world was caught in a fiery cage of gold and time stopped.

And yet, against all odds, against normality and what should be, something did move. It slithered along concrete, and oozing and sliding, it ran red against my white shoe. I followed the trail of blood from my shoe to Corwin. He was six and three fourths and he never let me forget that. He was lying face down on the concrete, his head lying oddly against the bump in the sidewalk, his shaggy sandy-blonde hair covering his round baby face. The red rubber ball from our four-square game had stopped bouncing and had rolled next to my mother's white house. There was a smudge on it, a darker red than the rest of the ball and very similar to the red that had stained my shoes.

"Corwin?" I asked, again abnormally breaking the spell of the afternoon heat and sun.

He didn't move.

"Corwin, pick up the ball and lets play."

I didn't know why I was crying but the sight of blood, his blood, told me something was wrong. He had never played this game with me and I didn't understand why he was doing it now.

"Lets play. Come on. Pick up the ball."

Behind me I heard the screen door open and women voices echoed, like a stone drop in an eternally black ominous cave. They also broke the rule.

"Reid, Corwin, come in for dinner." My mother called. She saw me standing in the driveway, tears pouring down from my face.

"Honey, what's wrong?" My mother was immediately on edge. She bounded down the steps, the wine glass in her hands shattering on the deck as she threw it down. Corwin's mother followed.

"Dear, where's Corwin?" She asked. "Where is-,"

And she screamed. Mom pulled me up into her arms, twisting and trying to hide me from the scene. But my eyes still watched over her shoulder. Corwin's mother was clutching her son to her chest, sobbing and shaking, cursing and crying. She buried her face in his chest and continued to rock back and forth, her wails bringing the neighbors from their houses.

"Don't look, baby," Mom whispered in my ear and out of the corner of my eye, I saw she still couldn't tear herself away.

"Mom, why won't he pick up the ball?"

The woman at the end of the driveway continued to weep and howl, the noise cutting places into my tiny heart I didn't know I had. Neighbors rushed out, one on a cell phone. Corwin's mother pushed away his hair, showing the small plump face that I had come to recognize over several years. I remember his eyes being a brown that made you think of rising cookie dough: gooey and sweet. Now I knew I would never see that sparkled happiness in them again. Because they would never open again. His always-pink cheeks were thin and pale, lank and dry as his hair. The afternoon had drained him of life. The afternoon had won.

Later that night, Mom was packing. I sat in her bed, my favorite pillow behind my head and a cup of warm chocolate in my hands while she moved from room to room, putting things into suitcases and boxes.

"Mama, why did Mrs. Mavis yell at you so much?" I asked.

"She is upset at God and took out her anger on me."

"Why?"

"She wants someone to blame for a mistake. For an accident."

"Mama, what if it wasn't an accident?"

She froze and looked over at me, her expression mingling between horror and surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"Is Corwin in a better place?"

"Yes, honey, he's with God. Now what this about not being an accident?"

She crossed the room in a few quick strides, taking the untouched hot chocolate from my freckled hands and put it on the bedside table. "I will always love you, no matter what happens. But you've got to be truthful. What happened outside?"

My throat felt the razor edge of tears and again, the cause of the tears weren't clear.

"Corwin, he cheated at two-square. He did a cherry bomb when the rules definitely said you couldn't!" I squeaked. "But then I got mad. Real mad. I said I'd smush his face in and he fell over. And then I threw the ball in his face. His head turned on the bump in the sidewalk, like he heard a noise, 'cuz it moved really fast and then there was a pop kind of thing. Like when you step on a twig or a red leaf. And then blood got on my shoe."

When I looked up from my shaking hands, I could not read my mother's face. She only stared, but everything, in a word, was closed. Her eyes were blank and her lips were tight, although a muscle had not moved to make her face this way. That face was emblazoned in my memory forever and in time I had managed to make my own version of that face. But there, as a child, it was the scariest thing I had ever seen my mother do.

"Am I the one Mrs. Mavis wants to blame?" I asked after a long silence.

My voice made my mother stir. Her eyes came back to life and her mouth curved upwards. She kissed my forehead, lingering there in reassurance and then shook her head.

"No," my mother said gently. "She still has no one to blame. Her anger is between herself and God."

She kissed me again and resumed her packing. The very next day we left with everything that could fit in our car and were gone, leaving for Manhattan New York, in a puff of black exhaust that clouded any hope of looking back.

*~*~*

The trip to the hospital was remembered in flashes.

Someone was checking my pulse and shouting very slowly, "She's alive."

Then the ground was falling out from below as people in blue lifted me somewhere. There was muttering and other sounds and I knew there was a crowd forming. After a long period of darkness, I saw people shoving needles into my arms, one very scared looking man holding electric paddles, watching my heart beat. Then, there was a white light and a steady beeping, and I felt my eyebrow being pulled at, then my cheek and my upper and bottom lip, all on the same side of my face. The light grew brighter until I couldn't see anything and it hurt to open my eyes.

And then rushing stopped.

The only other sound besides my shallow breathing was the harsh beeping of a heart rate monitor, confirming that the person to whom it connected was alive. I opened my eyes to a dimly lit hospital room. A feeble glow from a florescent bulb was the only light source, companied by a few streaks of hallway light that escaped under the door. I flexed my fingers, then moved my arms. Pain was thrumming through me like oil in a car.

My mother had told everyone that the death of Corwin L. Mavis was so traumatic we had to move or I'd go insane. That was partly correct because for weeks after the incident, I was nearly catatonic. And that was two thousand miles away. It was absurd that anyone would suspect a six year old of manslaughter but evidence was stacking up against me, which was probably another reason why my mother took everything and us, and left for Manhattan. I hadn't thought about that day in years, which was part of the brilliant plan devised by my mother, seemingly bullet-proof until the murderer wanted another lick of death, which was probably something she didn't consider.

If she was alive, she would know exactly what to say. How to make it better. But could she even look at me? The incident fifteen years ago was most likely an accident, but this. This was something else. I wanted her dead. I wanted her gone, away from me forever. And the wish came true.

I killed Ani Clark.

Had her body been found yet? Was I a suspect? How could I not be? I was in twenty feet of her body and her blood covered me. Were the cops waiting until I awoke to start questioning me? Or were the doctors keeping them away until I recovered completely? The air around me was heavy and thick, pressing me into the bed and clogging my lungs. Did Dina know? If she didn't, she would soon. Would she vouch for me in court? Or would she be happy if I went to prison? I would finally get the "help" I needed. And, she wouldn't have to deal with the delinquent that is ruining the community. No more embarrassing nightly drop-offs. No more cops telling her what to do. She could live her life without housing a criminal.

With that, I decided. I was going to leave Manhattan, and never come back. No one wanted me here and I didn't want them. I didn't need anyone. If I got far enough away, the cops would never find me. Somewhere, away, I would start a new life. Forget my old name, the old people, the old places that made up Reid Robinson.

I sat up from the bed and pulled the IV out of my arm, the clip off of my finger and slipped onto the floor. Immediately the monitors next to me started going haywire and a large black lump in the corner of the room that I hadn't noticed before jerked and I jumped back, startled.

"Where are you going?" The voice was not at all groggy, but firm and harsh. It was Dina.

"I'm leaving. I don't need a hospital to get better."

"Why did you have a gun? From what the police told me, you were near a bridge when they found you. What, Reid, were you going to do?"

My hand stopped on the handle and I glanced back over my shoulder as Dina stepped into the light. She was horribly pale. Purple bags of skin lapped under her eyes and her nose was bright red. There was a glassing covering to her eyes. Someone could say she was sick, but I knew better. She had been crying, and hard. She walked in front of me, quickly sliding over the door.

"Nothing. I need to leave."

"No, you are going to stay," Dina snarled and for the first time in years I felt the blush of childish obedience. "You were hit by a goddamn car!"

_I've done something worse. Something much, much worse. If I tell you, you're going to wish I was dead. _

She would never let me go willingly but she'll hear news reports, and then eventually she will put two and two together. As much as I hated it, Dina is not a stupid woman. I should be long gone by then, but the trick is getting there first.

"Back off." I let all the hate and pain and anger over the past eleven years rise to the surface, concentrating it all into my face. For a moment, Dina looked repulsed by what she saw. A knot was forming in my throat, making my stomach sick. This was the last time I would see Dina and I knew what I had to do. "Leave me alone. You can't tell me what to do and never could."

Dina stared but I refuse to meet her glance head on.

"You'll never make it out." She said as though I hadn't spoken. "You're at risk-" I grabbed a dumpy arm and shoved her sideways, and stormed through the door.

A whirling alarm went off. Two guards appeared at the end of the hallway, walking very slowly towards me.

"Come on, ma'am, lets get you back to your room," one said. I saw the glint of a needle and a syringe behind the other's back.

"Everything will be alright."

I stared at them momentarily before turning and launching myself down the other hallway. They immediately broke out into sprints after me but I was simply too fast. But run I still did. Patients stared out of their windows to watch as I jogged lightly past, followed two guards in white coming by a few seconds later. I turned down a hall, the florescent lights bright and glaring but giving the impression of a heavy blackness on its way. As door upon door went by, I finally saw something that made me slow down and stop. A white door, discreetly placed between two restroom signs, that read, "Possessions".

Curious and unperturbed that two large men were chasing after me, I opened the door and slid inside. There were metal racks and bags with various things inside of them. It looked to be alphabetical. I found R and sure enough, there in the back lay my jeans, boots, shirt and jacket. The jeans felt good and secure around my legs and the jacket smelled of Manhattan, the city I was leaving behind. As I finally zipped up the last boot, a problem arose and it would require some major thinking to solve. I had no money, no car, the last paycheck from the Bonanza the only source of cab fair and food. Usually, half of that money would go in as rent, but since I hadn't paid the landlord yet, I had about $300. That would get me maybe to Maryland, or Rhode Island. From then I would need a cab but a cab won't take me cross-country. How far could $300 get me passed the border?

Feeling as though something very hard and solid was approaching at a terrifying speed, I reached back into the plastic bag that held my clothes. The Magnum that I had bought earlier that day was readjusted into the back of my jeans and seeing an air vent, I popped it open and crawled through.

The air vent led out to the back of the morgue. I kicked out the door and started out towards my apartment.

*~*~*

It was getting dark, and car after car passed by me. Why wasn't I flinching every time a noise popped behind me? Why wasn't I terrified that I would be found? Inside my mind, it was cold and thick and slow, the lethargic feeling drugging my brain into submission. From there, idiotic calm spread to my fingers and feet, making me walk as though in a fog. All I could see was Ani's beautiful face tarnished by blood and her eyes wildly and oddly hungry. That only made me slow even more, but by instinct I continued on. The world around me was dully loud as though cotton balls were shoved into my ears and now the steady beat of my own heart was all I heard.

The drunken shell encased around me was only dumbly shaken when I arrived at my apartment. It was a classic three-floored, brick-walled building with concrete stairs and sliding-down ladders on the sides. My hands found keys somewhere on my person, unlocked the rusted lock and I stumbled through. The hanging lights appeared to be eyes, scrutinizing me and immediately knowing my sins. They shook their bulbs disapprovingly as my leaded feet pulled themselves up the stairs.

My apartment door was unlocked and even that received no reaction from my deadpanned face. As I reached for the light switch, my thumb scratched the chipped wood and a splinter jabbed its way into my hand. The pain made that deadly fog flicker, as though I was waking up from a deep sleep, and in surprise and shock, my legs tangled in each other and I fell over. Pain was pounding into my hand and huge tears welled up into my eyes and poured down my pale face. A sob burst through my throat and I gasped, a feeling besides pain wracking through my body. It was a disgusting feeling, gross and sticky and sickly. I started to shiver, the poison eating my very skin away. I wanted to claw my eyes out of my head, tear my flesh from my bones and pull my hair from my scalp, leaving that bleeding, bruised self far behind and be someone completely new. Guilt from taking a human life, sending a human soul to heaven or hell before it was their time was going to be my demise. Suicide was a coward's way out, a permanent problem to a temporary solution: that's what Dina had always said and I had always believed her. But now death, that pure empty blackness from which nothing returns, sounded like absolute paradise.

The Magnum felt warm against my back, like a comforting hand of a friend. I peeled away the skin on my hand to reveal the splinter in the center of my palm. My nails were bloody, and fresh blood was pouring out of the gash in my hand, but I continued to claw away the flesh. Suddenly the pain lessened and I saw in the drop of blood at the end of my elbow the thick wooden dagger. No, suicide wasn't the answer but staying here wasn't it either.

*~*~*

It was reaching midnight when I left the apartment, a note to Dina on my bed with the keys folded inside. A long thick black coat swished around my ankles and finally I hooked up the last button that hung above my knees. That was the only thing I changed before I left the apartment. Though I only took a variety of clothes and a few toiletries, I didn't change out of my torn and bloody wardrobe. The blood from the splinter still remained on my skin under the long black arm of the coat.

The bus station was always open and there was only one young girl manning the window. Her bright blue hair covered her face and I shoved her arm with my good hand, shaking her awake.

"What? I'm not sleeping," She grumbled, her eyes still bleary with sleep, before giving me a truly ugly glare. I returned with one of my own, and her eyes narrowed before she jostled the computer's mouse beside her. "What do you need?"

"What's the farthest place away from here for the cheapest?"

A thin eyebrow jumped but she didn't look away from the screen as she typed in something to the keyboard.

"A bus for Kankakee, Illinois leaves in two hours for $175."

There goes more than half of my money.

"Great. I'll take it."

A small ticket jutted out from a yellowing box inside the ticket booth as I handed her the money. The girl's painted nails snatched the ticket and handed it to me under the small opening in the window. I reached for it but suddenly the girl pulled it back, a curious glare on her face.

"Where are you going at midnight, and willing to wait two hours for a bus to go to the middle of nowhere?" Her eyes narrowed, a testing edge to them.

"Why are stupid nosy gothic-posers always asking me that?" I snarled and snatched the ticket out of her hand. "Oh, that's right, because some people have real jobs and leave the rest to the high school drop outs."

Anger flexing inside of me like fire, I stormed off in the other direction and waited inside of the glass-cased seat. The inside was covered with gum and torn posters of worn-out rock bands and independent slogans. I glared forcefully at each of them, the gym bag in my hands clutched tightly to my chest. The dark outside was shifting slightly due to the muck on the glass windows and my eyes narrowed, angry that for once nothing could be still and quiet. A wind was shoving a paper cup along the road in front of me, the glass cutting me off from the cool breeze but sending a soft whistling into my ears. I looked up and saw that the girl in the booth was gone. The whistling continued. A street lamp above me glittered, a buzzing sound echoing in the night as the wires kept trying to connect. Finally, the light went out and the buzzing stopped. The whistle from outside grew louder and the cup was thrown forcefully into a wall and crumpled. Now in complete darkness and surrounded by a haunting wind, I got up and started to walk off towards the next light. That light failed and so I turned back towards the station but one by one, the lights outside flickered off, the only light coming from the booth. The girl still hadn't returned.

The booth was too far away and as I stood in the dark, it seemed to get farther away. A cold rush ripped up my back, the pain in my shoulder giving off a slight twinge. Suddenly, I realized that the dirt did not cause the moving shadows seen inside of the glass-case: the shadows were moving because they weren't shadows of stationary things, they were black lumps in the dark moving towards me. Thankful that I wasn't engulfed by the wave of awareness, I started to race into an empty lot outside of the bus station. The bare shrubs slowly grew up into trees, the dark around me getting thicker and heavier as I raced farther and farther away from the bus station.

Now I was panting, sweat dripping down my back and the cold air sharpening itself against the insides of my lungs. I couldn't tell what exactly was following me but with the past couple of days being the way they were, I was fairly sure it was either my stalker or the black vortex Abyss. Either way, my lungs would catch on fire before I stopped. My foot caught on a hand-like root and I tumbled out onto an empty field. The city was far behind me, the buildings glittering like watching bystanders to a murder. The Hudson River lapped up onto the shore beside me. It twisted and shivered like a greedy snake waiting to devour another body.

Throwing my bag to the ground, I felt the blood rushing in my ears and my scarred hands were clenched into fists, partly readying myself for a fight and also to stop them from shaking.

"I'm ready for you!" I heard myself shout, turning my attention back towards the edge of the trees. They sat; ominously still and black like an eternally thick veil, they were waiting to reveal the horror that stood in their dark shroud.

"Come on out and fight me. You don't scare me anymore!" My voice stayed calm and firm, glinting with ferocity as sharp as a knife, yet my heart was beating erratically. If something didn't try and kill me soon, I would die of an uninteresting heart attack.

Silence followed my challenges and the moon, the river and the city looked from the trees to me and back to the trees, all knowing of what was to come and simply excited to see the events play out in live time. I, however, refused to look away from the trees.

A wind waved across the field I stood in, ruffling my hair and I jostled my head slightly to remove the strand of bright red hair blocking my vision.

In that fraction of a second, the trees parted slightly and a dark shadow leapt from them and moving with inhuman speeds, it tackled me to the ground and hissed violently in my ear.

Fear erupted in my veins and locked my elbows as I fought it back. A scream bounded into my throat but I kept in down with a gasp. As though the thing sensed my fear, it snarled and hissed and growled. Its claws or paws had a steel grip around my shoulders and in a fleeting moment, I realized it was going for my neck, just as Ani had. Instinctually, one of my booted feet came up and kicked it directly in the chest. It flew over me and I leapt forward, rolling, trying to create as much space between it and I. As I rolled, something hard pressed into my back and the permanent solution became clear once again. My feet hit the ground and, faster than I believed possible, my hand pulled the gun from my jeans, unlocked the trigger and I spun around to aim.

The thing was already back on its feet and coming towards me by the time I turned around. Before giving them permission, my fingers that were coupled around the trigger squeezed. The bullet exploded from the barrel and drove straight home. The deafening sound of a gunshot shattered the silence and the three onlookers glanced away, knowing what was to come next, the horrible shock reaching them only seconds before it hit me like a truck.

Moonlight wrapped the figure in light, the moon feeling sorry for the doomed creature, for as it stood wobbling on all fours, I could see that it was human. A young man with unbelievably bright blonde hair was shaking as blood poured onto the ground. A frightfully white hand reached up to the wound and then the victim's face looked up at me. He had a sharp nose, a large jagged scar that raced up his left eyebrow and the most angular jaw line and cheeks I've ever seen on a person. But his two electric blue eyes sat surprised and shocked in his head. Traces of odd playfulness were fading and slowly the bright blue grew darker and darker as his life slipped away. I stumbled forward, my hand outstretched towards him.

"Please don't die."

He blinked slowly before he frowned slightly and fell to the ground, his hand shinning in wet blood.

I was sick. The past days were causing me to sway; the days of remembering pain and wallowing in misery, the days of anger and hate, the days of immobilizing depression; all ending with the smash of a bottle, biting words never to be forgotten and the silencing ring of a gunshot; all ending innocent life, those days were sending shockwaves in my body, clogging my veins and filling my skin. They filled and filled, packing away inside of me until finally, I could hear nothing, or see anything, except the thumping in my chest. As the blackness that had been following me finally took over my senses, I fell to the cold earth. With the dull drumming in my chest against the ground, my hand reached out to the boy's in front of me. Darkness closed in and I stopped fighting. With my hand touching his, this stranger's, I passed out.


	5. Chapter 5: The Opponent Team Has a Ghost

Chapter 5: The Opponent Team has a Ghost

For a moment, I was disappointed. This was not what I had expected of heaven. It was pure white, sure, but everything else felt real and tangible. I could have sworn cotton was crunched beneath my fingertips and my heels touched woven cloth. I was in a bed, made of pure white and immediately this wasn't heaven. Because, heaven wouldn't hook a needle into my arm and connect the needle to a beeping monitor. With a swift flush of horror, I realized that I was back in a hospital room, and the cops had found me. Lying next to a dead body.

Oh God, that boy. I shot him, actually shot him and he died. That hissing ring of the gunshot, the sudden crunch of metal hitting flesh and the falling glance those shockingly blue eyes gave me before he fell to the ground, into a pool of his own blood; they were fresh in my memory and slicing my chest like a lashing whip. I would surely be sent away now, after literally holding a smoking gun whilst standing over a dead body.

Would I ever see Dina again? No, that part of my life was over. Dina must not exist because if she did, escaping now would not be possible.

"Oh dear, look at that heart rate!"

The white curtains surrounding me had not moved, yet I heard as clear as day a brisk female Irish voice. Was that a nurse?

"Is someone there?" I called out.

"Course, silly. Now, calm down, nothing's going to happen to you. You're safe."

Still, I saw no movement behind the white curtains, no move of shadows or heard the scuffle of feet. Childishly, I immediately thought of ghosts. But I knew that wasn't true, and yet, the only thing that was with me in the room, that I could see, was the heart rate monitor.

"From what?" I asked as I stared at the monitor, hardly believing. Then, before my eyes, the steady lines grew and sharpened, forming eyes. Then the boxes filled with numbers morphed into a nose and a mouth and, what I could have sworn was, a pair of dimples. A mechanized face was staring at me with was a certainly warm smile.

"You tell me, deary," the monitor said dryly.

There was only a moment of absolute clarity, when shock had made my mind totally clear, then the realization set in and I screamed. My arm jerked to grab the IV from my arm, but suddenly there was a sharp pinch and leather belts leapt around my forearms, bolting them to the bed. I let out a gasp and started to kick, only to have more belts appear from nowhere and strap me down.

"Honey, there is no need for so much worry!" The monitor said, in almost a condescending voice. "You're safe!"

"No way in hell I'm safe when I'm being strapped to a bed," I growled fiercely and reached in vain to my other arm, trying to free something, "by talking furniture!"

"Just take a deep breath and realize you're okay!"

For a moment I froze, for the once brilliantly white curtains now had smudges on them in the shape of a face, the big wide mouth grinning towards me, comforting as a talking curtain could be.

"Let me go!" I bellowed but the only response from the usually inanimate object was more calming words.

"It's alright! Everything's fine!"

"NO IT'S NOT!" I screamed and kicked, my movements shaking the bed. I thrashed and turned but the leather manacles around my arms and feet bit deeper and deeper into my skin. For a moment I stopped and gasped, the pain so terrifyingly real. Up until this point, everything had been so surreal, a part of me said that this was a dream, none of this was actually happening. But that pain sent a shockwave of reality into me and a wild, fierce, primitive panic exploded in my chest. My screams reached a higher pitch, hysteria rushing through me like poison.

"Somebody HELP ME!"

Suddenly a door burst open and a small redheaded girl came barreling through the door, followed by a man with an eye patch and jet black hair. They came flying into the room and as they skidded to a stop at the foot of my bed, I realized the boy had a crossbow in his hands.

"What's wrong?" The girl asked in a flurry. Her green eyes immediately checked my vitals and then raced down to the manacles restraining me.

"Wrong question, girl," I said fiercely. Suddenly I realized I was panting, out of breath from screaming. "What the hell is going on?"

The boy standing behind the redhead raised the crossbow and with a jolt of surprised, I realized he was aiming it at me. His face wasn't harsh or judging; he looked at me with a bizarre glare of familiarity. I, of course, had never laid eyes on anyone like him, but by the way his mouth curled slightly, he seemed to know exactly who I was and clearly did not like it.

"Xander, I don't think we need crossbows now…" The girl hissed. She wouldn't take her eyes off me and neither would the boy, Xander.

"Not a chance, Will." He replied. Will, the girl, stepped forward, obviously trying to ignore the man with the crossbow behind her.

"Look, I'm going to let you go, but you promise you can't just run off. Okay?" The girl asked quietly and took a step forward. The boy shifted in his stance.

"No," I said firmly. The girl froze. "I'm not making any sort of deals until you tell me exactly what this is."

She could tell I was desperate, rash. There was no beating around the bush with this one. "That particularly is magic. I enchanted the monitor and the curtains to help make those with the acheys feel more at home. More safe. They weren't supposed to scare you."

"The manacles kind of defeated that purpose," I snapped and gave one more fierce tug, trying to turn a deaf ear to the words "magic" and "enchanted." The boy shifted again.

"Well, we installed those when we knew you were coming," replied the girl, uneasiness creeping across her face.

"Why?"

"We've had Slayers go homicidal, a-wall before," the boy replied, his voice in a deadly monotone. "We can't risk it a second time. Not now."

I stared at the pair of them in complete disbelief. Were they on drugs or something? Crossbows, magic, Slayers, was I taken hostage by some occult who actually lived the Dungeons and Dragon's lifestyle? Was I-

Slayer.

Images and places rushed to the surface of my memory. The dream of the vast cavern. The note left by the stalker. Ani's last words to me. They all called me a Slayer. As I stared at a point on the floor, my mouth slightly open, I remembered how undeniably strong I felt in that dream. How powerful I was and how I was connected to thousands of girls, women that had come before me.

The magic and the crossbows might be completely fake, but for all the certainty in the world, I knew I was, whatever it meant, a Slayer.

"Ok. I'm a Slayer. Why am I tied up?"

Will, the redhead, opened her mouth but before she could speak Xander, the man with the crossbow, spoke with a tone that cut like knives.

"You're dangerous."

A pool of ice melted in my stomach, a sharp pinch dashing in my chest.

"I haven't the slightest clue of why you think that." I replied calmly. What was on the other side of those windows? Say if I jumped through them, where would I go?

"You shot-,"

The door opened a second time and a blonde girl followed by an older man in grey sweater entered the room.

"Is this the new one from Manhattan, Willow?" The blonde girl asked sharply.

"Yeah, Buffy, this is Reid." Will, Willow, replied.

"Why were you screaming?" The blonde girl spoke again and I realized she was addressing me.

"Things that shouldn't talk talked to me and then I was strapped down by manacles that came out of nowhere. Then he showed up and brandished that lovely crossbow in my face." I added, smilingly sweetly to Xander.

"We're taking precautions. But you were obviously just startled." The redhead answered and stepped forward. She paused for a moment, glanced at the blonde girl and then unbuckled the manacles.

I hopped off the bed, rubbing my wrists. "What precautions? Why am I here? I could have you arrested for kidnapping."

"You could try." Xander said, the tip of the arrow following me as I moved from the bed to the floor.

The man in the grey sweater and glasses stepped forward. "You as a Slayer are in grave danger," he said and I was momentarily thrown by his British accent. "We were waiting until the signs called you to us, but it is becoming obvious that we are running short of time."

Fine I was a Slayer but what honestly did that mean? Those women in the dreams could have just been my ancestors and a Slayer could be another name with blood type O positive. But these people, they were of a different breed. A certain breed I certainly did not want to get mixed up with and I was sure, if they knew who I was, the feeling would be mutual. The man began to speak again but this time I only listened with feigned interest. I was figuring how much force it would take to break through one of those glass windows.

"…but, as of right now, you as a new Slayer need training now more than ever. We couldn't risk him finding you first. There are too many uncontrolled variables right now, which was why we sent Spike out after you."

I froze in my unnoticeable move toward the closest window. "What did you say?"

"Yes, Spike-,"

The older gentleman didn't finish, for the door flew open a third time, the handle rattling as it bounced off the wall. My eyes grew wide and my lips grew lax, dropping my jaw as I stared. My hands were suddenly sweaty and I could barely stand. For the hand that opened the door was followed by an arm dressed in a black sleeve. Then came a chest and finally, that same brilliant, unnatural blonde hair, sharply angled cheekbones and the most stunning blue eyes that I've only seen on only one occasion. I've only seen this boy once before and that was the night he died. The night I killed him.

"The natives are getting restless," he said.

*~*~*

"Vi is waiting on you to start the class. What do you want me to tell her, Buffy?"

Everyone twitched his or her stares between the boy that had just come in and I. One of his pale eyebrows twitched up. "What?"

There was a sudden stunned silence, before I whipped up the needle that had been previously in my arm and flung it hard as I could at the boy coming in through the door. Nerves screwed up my aim and the needle thudded into the wall behind his right shoulder.

"What the bloody-,"

The blonde girl, 'Buffy' apparently, stepped forward, her body suddenly tense, like she meant to leap forward. "Hey, back off!"

"You!" I howled, that same panic causing me to shiver. "I killed you."

The pale boy scowled. "And what? You're sully that it didn't work? So you've come out a three-week coma to finish the job? I suggest-,"

I gasped, my heart thudding painfully against my throat. "Three-weeks?"

Buffy stepped towards me, a hand outstretched as if fearing I would throw something again.

"Reid, that's Spike. He's a vampire. A good vampire with a soul. He came to help you." She said speaking very fast, her hazel eyes locked onto my face. I noticed this out the corner of my vision; I refused to look anywhere else besides the boy near the door.

"Help me with what?" I growled. The girl was right to come and try and pin me down, if that was her eventual intention, because I wondered how long it would take me to grab something sharp out of the drawer beside the bed and fling that at him.

_Hang on, why did I want to kill him?_

"Help you-,"

"He's a vampire?" I interrupted. "As in Immortal, as not going to die if shot in the chest?"

"Yes," Buffy said quickly. "You didn't kill anyone. You reacted with the weapons at hand and did what any normal Slayer would do."

"That was a while ago," I said, my legs itching to hop over the bed, and find just anything sharp. "Why do I still want him dead?"

"Like I said, vampire. Slayer. They're unmeshable things."

For the first time since she stepped into the room, I turned and looked straight at the girl called Buffy. Her sunny blonde hair was pulled back and her white tank top was spotted with dirt. Her tiny nose was impeccably perfect, with straight lips that were on the borderline of pouting constantly. Fingerless gloves covered her hands. She looked ready for war, dressed in gardener's clothes. If they didn't kill me, I'd have to watch this Buffy.

"You're in a institute of sorts for Slayers, on the outskirts of South Oregon," she continued, realizing she had my attention. "We took you from Manhattan and brought you here to be trained right."

"What about this anger?"

"Yeah. I know. It's Slayer instinct. I want to kill him too."

"There's a surprise." The vampire muttered.

"But we can't," Buffy said, ignoring the remark. "He's good. He fights evil, with a soul."

"I don't know, Buff," Xander, said. He seemed to have finally come down from Def Con 1 and was now shaking a disapproving head. "Maybe we should let the newbie have a go at Spike. Might do some good."

"Like I couldn't snap her like a twig, you bugger." The vampire said indifferently. He did not look at me, only glared in mild annoyance at Xander. But with an inward shudder I seriously did not like, I knew he most certainly could.

"Exactly." Xander replied with a smile, a light happy smile, but there was something darker beneath that made the smile bore resemblance to the Sad Clown combined with Chuckie. It was an offsetting smile at the least, and when the grin fell away I wondered what emotion this Xander would show when it all came out.

"So you're a vampire, he's trigger-happy," I said pointing from the vampire to Xander. I continued to Buffy and Willow. "You're top dog around here, where ever the hell here is, and you're-,"

"The witch." The redhead replied and waved a suddenly glowing hand. The crossbow Xander had been holding squawked and turned in a rubber chicken before flipping back to the weapon.

"Esh, Will, you know I hate you doing that." Xander grimaced and for a terrifying second I was reminded of someone else who grimaced and sighed in that same tired way. In the way that meant they had given up, on whatever they were trying to do. Xander was simply defeated. The witch giggled, seemingly not noticing his dragging face.

"I know but I just love your face when you remember fourth grade."

Xander winced again. "I wasn't actually thinking of that this time, but now that the image's there, thanks."

I ignored the giggle-gang. "What are you?" I asked the older gentleman who had taken a seat on one of the other hospital beds. "Demon? Werewolf? Queen of the Damned?"

"Ex-Watcher, I'm afraid." The man said and took a white napkin from his pocket and began to clean his glasses.

"Well, that's a lot less impressive than 'hello, my name is Eddy Munster'." Xander frowned.

"My name is Rupert Giles. You may call me Giles," the older man said, addressing me again. " I used to be a Watcher. I train Slayers to their full potential. You will meet many more at your stay here."

"Oh, no, no, no," I said and stood back up from my relaxed lean. "I'm not staying here for any amount of time."

I took a step forward and immediately everyone was on edge. Giles stepped back, while the vampire and Buffy stepped forward. Willow tensed and for a second, I could have sworn her hands glowed. Xander inched a hand towards his crossbow. They all stared, as if I was about to take out a rocket-launcher and start to blow them to smithereens.

My eyes narrowed. "What's with the third degree?"

"We just want to talk," Buffy said firmly as though she was talking down a terrorist. "No funny movements from our side. Want to keep that deal?"

"Fine." I said. "Talk. But I ask. Why did you kidnap me and why won't you let me leave?"

"You can leave. Just don't come sniveling back when you've got your arm wrenched off by the opponent team." The vampire scowled. I glared at him. What was his name again?

"Spike, shut up." Xander said and when I looked, he was carrying the crossbow again. Apparently he was very fast too.

"What 'opponent team'?" I asked.

"Something very big and powerful is killing new Slayers all around the world before they can get their full training," Giles interjected, adopting that fast smooth speech as Buffy had. I felt like a criminal being interrogated. "We are rounding up Slayers as fast as we can to protect them and keep them safe as long as we can."

"Then why didn't you just come up to me and talk? I would have called you completely nuts, but still, it's better than thinking you're being stalked."

"If you don't like the way I hunt, deal with it." Spike snapped. Under his crossed arms, I could see his hands were balled into fists.

My jaw set, I came up with something truly nasty, but Giles cut across me before I could reply.

"We had heard of your…er… background and hoped that once back here we could talk reason with you. It was better planned than executed." He said pointedly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Willow flinch slightly.

"At work, a customer left a note asking if I had 'awakened'. What the hell is that about?" I asked fiercely.

"What?" Giles asked looking at me with deep grey-brown eyes. "Spike, did you have something to do with this?"

Spike, the vampire, wrinkled his nose. "No, mind games were never my plate of bacon o' eggs."

"But if Spike did not arrange for the note, then…" Giles began pacing then turned to stare at Buffy, whose head dropped and her hazel eyes turned razor sharp.

"Razikel. You were his next target." Buffy said, her head turning slowly to me. "You're were going to die."

"Who the hell is that?"

"An extremely powerful servant of the First."

I looked at Giles expectantly. He sighed and continued.

"The First is the original evil. All the demons fought and killed by the Slayer are descendents of the First. Last year, Buffy faced by this primordial demonic force as it was trying to end the Slayer line by killing girls all over the world that had the potential to become the next Slayer. With the magical help of Willow here, those girls gained the full power of the Slayer, breaking the rule that there was only one Slayer per generation. And now we believe this demon, Razikel, is trying to finish his master's work by killing off the new Slayers. However, this is going to be much more difficult, as these girls have strength and skill unmatched by anything. So with that taken into account, our new hypothesis he only needs a certain amount of deaths, or a certain amount of Slayer blood, for some dark purpose."

"So, basically, with this new revelation, you're saying you saved my life." I asked, my eyebrow twitching up.

Giles frowned. "If you consider the circumstances and the recent events, yes."

"Gee, now is there a group hug coming?" I snarled, again, harsher than I meant. The fact that I owed my life to any one of these people deeply upset me.

"No," said Giles, obviously slightly shocked by the intensity with which I asked my question. "It simply means I might need some help of yours in the library, as to identify the man that came into your work. Assuming you're staying, of course…" Giles added.

I stared at the pack of them, wondering vaguely if this was all a dream and I was in fact still unconscious in a jail cell. Was I a human or a Slayer? Was I dead or alive? Could I trust these people? _No_, was my immediate thought. But they hadn't tried to harm me, or force me to do anything, even after I chucked the needle at the vampire. If I could find my gun, I would a much more agreeable position. But from the looks they all gave me, if I asked for a weapon of any sort, Attack Pattern A would be initiated. Besides, it's a place to crash and eat. Necessities of life, right?

My chin rose slightly, I glared at each one of them before giving a low nod.

"Fine, just call me Reid, the Vampire Slayer."

There was an inaudible sigh of relief. Giles reacted first.

"Wonderful. I hope your training begins well tomorrow," he said, his head dipping towards me in a respectful nod and he left the room. "See you all in the morning."

"That'd be my cue to follow." Willow muttered. "I promised to help him alphabetize his notes on the Garlash demon clan outside of Ontario if he took over my laundry for the week."

The witch grinned a goodbye before tottering off out the door.

"I just don't want to be here." Xander shrugged and without another word, left the room. There was a sizzle of electrified air that passed between Xander and Spike as the human with the crossbow crossed in front of the vampire and left.

Buffy glanced at Spike, as if waiting to hear his excuse for leaving. Spike shrugged. "Got no where else to be except with you, pet."

Buffy smiled in a way that was almost painful to watch. Perhaps once it had been a smile but now it was a horrible grimace. Spike didn't seem to notice and continued staring at Buffy.

"Look," Buffy said and turned away from him. "I know it's scary, being a Slayer and all-,"

"I don't even get what we're suppose to do. Kill things like him, I got that much," I said and pointed towards Spike who still didn't look at me. "But what else? Kill the vampire, the occasional demon, how complicated that get?"

"Oh, don't be so sure about that," Spike said. His blue eyes finally unpeeled themselves from Buffy and drifted slowly over to me. He looked like a shadow with gems for eyes. "Don't ever underestimate how horribly complicated things can get."

With that, he pulled away from the wall and slunk out the door.


	6. Chapter 6: First Impressions

Chapter 6: First Impressions

Buffy told me she couldn't stay— there was a training session that needed her attention— but she promised to send up someone who could show me a room. She had left then, giving me a small smile over her shoulder as she passed through the door.

Alone. Not a sound.

Is this it? Am I being watched? Am I free? Could I be free? Can I run?

I couldn't see outside the windows— a grey, erasable fog clouding the glass. What's the worse I could land on? A few cuts and bruises, granted, but nothing I wouldn't eventually heal from. I pressed a hand to the glass. I was in Oregon, several states away from where I thought I would be and in a time period ahead of where I expected to be. They had mentioned nothing about Ani, nor hinted towards it. They acted as if they didn't know I had really killed someone, or were truly unaware. In case of the latter, I intended to keep it that way. And in either case, were they insane or was some psychopath really trying to kill me and I had only escaped by luck? I had seen enough Saturday morning cartoons to know that bad guys unfortunately don't give up after you've thwarted their plans to kill you. They only got pissed, really pissed. But this was real life, and the bad guys usually didn't intend to put you on a conveyer belt, then leave the room and you to your doom. They would follow you, capture and torture you and only when were you begging for death did they give it to you. In some cases, they couldn't be beaten.

My hand fell away from the glass.

I needed to be around people who had a chance of survival when "couldn't" seemed to be all that was possible.

"Are you Reid?" A voice from behind me asked. I spun and saw a dark haired girl holding a slip of paper. Her dark eyes sized me down and she straightened up.

"Are you Kennedy?" I asked, the name Buffy had mentioned in passing flickering to the surface of my memory. Her eyes narrowed and a jaunty wrist snapped to her hip. It was like brushing cats the wrong way with a brush: we were one-step away from relinquishing claws.

"Uh-uh. Now come on."

The girl turned and for the first time in my awake consciousness, I stepped out of the hospital ward. Now, we stood inside of a hall. Cream-colored walls lined this new hall and the odd windows flecked equally along the walls. The floor was now a dark wood, opposed to the hard linoleum. The hall jerked right and left at the very end, leaving three doors. Kennedy strode through the middle door, the one with the biggest brass handle of the three. A stone arch bowed in front of us, with a black metal staircase swirling up and down a few feet passed the stone arch. Kennedy swiftly stepped up the stairs and for all my staring, I had to take a couple of long, fast strides to catch up with her. The ceiling passed by and at the top, a balcony with two short flights of stairs leaked down both sides. Again, there was a long skinny hallway at the floor below. Kennedy took the right one, I following at her heels and then I was immediately hit by a sonic blast of sound. Laughing, music, squealing and several loud bumps were echoing around the hallway. Sound was trying to escape through the door cracks but there was so much of it, it was caught under the doorways and when one was opened slightly, the noise was released in an eardrum-blasting wave.

Suddenly, one of the doors was flung wide-open and a tall skinny girl, not much older than fifteen, tumbled out, giggling like mad. A huge pink pillow followed her out and she ducked, laughing even harder. What sounded like a gaggle of girls sat just beyond the door and they were laughing as well.

"Missed, stupid!" She called back into the room. "Lemme see some of that Slayer power!"

She cackled madly before chucking the pillow back into the room. It looked as though she was about to jump back into the fray, but then she stopped and frowned. Slowly, her head turned to look at Kennedy striding towards her. The girl cringed for a moment, but as Kennedy walked on, she relaxed. She watched the older girl go, before turning around and frowning. She heard my footsteps and when she glanced up, a pointed jaw dropped and she rushed back into the room, any thoughts of continuing the fight clearly gone.

I glared at the door and then took one step forward. And then another. I started walking firmly down the hall as one by one the wooden doors opened. Girls ranging from thirteen to my age poked their heads outside their doors to watch me walk down the hall. A soft buzz began to echo behind me, the girls turning to their neighbor to ask what they thought of the new girl. I stuck a defiant chin into the air, my back arching with confidence. If they stared, I would give them what they wanted to see, but even then, I could not help but wonder, _did they know_?

Kennedy led me down through another hallway and up another flight of metal staircases and through another stone arch before opening a wooden door. All the walls were cream colored, the previous hallways occasionally switching between cream and dark green wallpaper.

"What was that place back there?" I asked, the feeling of being bored slowly replacing the awe at the sheer size of this place.

"Oh, that. That was Housing Section A. You're in Section D."

The bored-me stirred slightly as I considered something.

"There must have been at least forty girls in there. So, if my math isn't completely screwed up, there are at least eighty girls here."

"Seventy-eight actually, including you," Kennedy said, with a grin. "Some of the rooms aren't filled yet and we haven't had to double bunk everyone. And even then, the whole organization system is really weird. Some bizzaro scheme thought up by Buffy."

We stopped at one door, one in a long hall with dark wallpaper. Number 314 hung by nail on the wooden door, the door itself innocently blank of all scratches and imperfections.

"Reid, meet your new roommate," Kennedy said and pushed a door inward, showing a short girl with blonde hair, with a blue stripe down the middle, pulled back in a plait. She was folding a shirt when we came in.

"Hi, I'm Ericka," the girl said and outstretched a hand. Ericka had a round face with soft blue, unwavering eyes. It screamed innocence but something about the warm eyes set of a scowl.

"I have a roommate?" I asked of Kennedy, ignoring the girl's open hand. "I thought you said not everyone had to be double bunked."

"You're not everyone," Kennedy said, in a tone that firmly stated, "This is as far as you go."

Kennedy turned towards the door before giving Ericka an apologetic glance. Ericka attempted to do a hidden shrug and returned to her folding. Kennedy left, leaving me alone with my new playmate.

There stood two beds. The right half of the room had a new brightly colored top sheet, matching pillows and a picture of Ericka and a little boy who bore a close family resemblance to her, sat on the nightstand. The dresser had a mirror, the top shelf holding only one plastic bag of makeup and the rest of the shelf spotted with scraps of paper that looked like movie ticket stubs and torn out papers from magazine. At least I didn't get melodramatic Barbie.

"Sorry, if I have too much stuff," Ericka finally said. She was readjusting clothes from her bed to the drawer. "But you have your own."

I turned and looked at my half of the room. _Spartan_, came to mind. The top cover of the bed was grey and the sheets were white beneath. The lamp beside the bed covered over blank desk and the chest of drawers held a mirror that reflected the personality explosion on the opposite side of the room. I flopped down on my bed and let my mind drift.

There were several things I knew, didn't know and wanted to know. I knew that the cops hadn't found me. Instead, I had been captured by a group of females with superpowers known as Slayers. I have yet to see such power, but the talking furniture and the glowing girl was hard to ignore.

"So did you get here today?" Ericka asked.

"Nope. Been here for three weeks, in the infirmary." I said.

"Three weeks?" Ericka paused from her folding and looked at me, a well-played look of feigned shock written all over her face.

"Yeah, fell out of my bed back in Manhattan." I muttered, a lie flicking off my tongue, a bad one as it may be.

Ericka nodded, frowning slightly as though she could not comprehend why someone would lie. That would soon go away and she would learn that this was just the way I was, especially if she was my roommate.

"Weird, I know."

My small bag of clothes had been brought up. I unzipped the bag and started to rummage through. There were some jeans, shorts, tank tops, regular shirts and a few undies. I pulled them out in stacks, and began to move towards the dresser.

"You should probably burn those. They don't do much good here."

I stopped and looked over at her, a regular bra in my hands. "This?"

Ericka nodded as she put several sports bras into her drawer.

"You'll figure out sooner or later that jeans, sneakers, a sports bra and a t-shirt is all a Slayer has time for."

"Between what?" I snickered. "Beheading and breakfast?"

"Yes." Ericka said firmly. She was completely serious, but there was a flash of spiteful undertone; she was already fed up with my mood.

"Well, in any case, some sleep is dually needed before any thing that involves beheading." I kicked off my boots and tumbled backwards onto my bed.

"Oh, no, no. It's dinnertime. Come on, it's a good place to make an impression."

"Already met the gang this morning. That Xander really likes his crossbow." I sighed and pulled a magazine over from her side of the room, flipping through it nonchalantly. "I'm not going."

There was little malice in that, but just enough to get the point across.

Ericka frowned. "Um . . . Ok. Well, aren't you hungry? If you want, I could—"

"No," I said firmly. If she thought something was off about my arrival here, certainly everyone else would feel the same. The walk through Section A earlier today had proven that well enough. "I'm going to stay here and unpack."

"Alright."

And she left through the door.

She was going off to tell all her buddies what a bitch the new girl was. I didn't care. Let her.

Ericka came back late. I don't know the exact time but even after the room was filled with her deep shallow breaths, I didn't follow her into sleep. In fact, I did not sleep the entire night. From my cradled position facing the wall, I watched the sky's reflection in the mirror. At first, a crisp line of gold pink and above it a settling black, like a blanket waiting to be thrown over a candle. Then, as the night moved on, the sky was smudged with a sparking dust of stars, lightening the black for a couple of hours. For a few hours after that, a pure white orb lit up the sky, outshining the glimmering stars: the moon was ruling the sky. Though the sky shifted, it felt as though the moon never moved. Then, the moon was gone and a curious pink opened at the horizon and with more light, the horizon grew stronger and the night fell away. It was then Ericka shifted and crawled out of bed. She got dressed and left.

I turned over and sighed. For a moment I closed my eyes, and then there was a knock at the door. It was Ericka, with breakfast. The room was filled with the glow of early morning.

She slid a biscuit onto the bedside table.

"Since you didn't eat last night, I thought—"

"Yeah, thanks." The gesture was forced: she was probably making nice, only because that was how she was raised, not because it was what she wanted.

"I'm sure you could care less, but classes start today."

"I dropped out of school so I would never hear that phrase again."

"What?"

"Nothing."

It was stupid to try and avoid the inevitable. I slipped out from the sheets and randomly pulled clothes from my drawer, changed quickly and shrugged at Ericka.

"How bad can it be?"

We left Section D, leaving from a different hallway than Kennedy brought me down yesterday. The thin corridor spilled out into a wide room with many doors and hallways branching off. Four arches faced us from the wall across. They were empty and blank, dark brick hiding in the shadows. An elevator-shaft came to mind but as we moved forward into the room, the small black thin metal staircase that seemed to be the favored method of floor travel appeared from inside the seemingly empty doorways. Ericka trotted down, not even pausing to make sure I was following.

After going through the dark shaft and having the feeling of slipping down an eternally long black waterslide grate on the inside of my stomach, Ericka brought us into a large room. It looked similar to a mountainside lodge, with the walls reinforced by stone pillars and the large ceiling supported by wooden timbers. A massive paired door stood across from us on the opposite wall. Intricate designs were carved into the wood and something told me that the artwork wasn't just simply that; the doors seemed to crackle, though they remained perfectly still. Though this was an insanely impossible idea, I wondered if there was something else reinforcing the door besides locks and bolts. The floors were hard wood, and the doors looked oak. Framed doorways led off into separate hallways and a whiff of rosemary that left a set of opened pairs doors to my left led me to believe that was where they called the kitchen.

Every few minutes, a girl or a pair would dash across the foyer and disappear into one of the adjacent hallways. Maybe it would be a group, laughing and talking, traveling around.

Hello, Professor Xavier School for the purely female gifted.

We entered into a far hall, opened a door and came to a small college-like room. Large wooden connected desks wrapped around the wall closest to the door and had four moveable chalkboards were mounted on the across wall. A desk sat in the front and on either side of the desk stood a rack of weapons. From swords and small metal things that looked like Ninja Stars, to curved fierce-looking knives, they all sat there, just as normally as an apple would sit on a teacher's desk in elementary school.

Ericka slid into the first row and I immediately tensed. Never once in all my years of school had I ever sat in the very first row. There was something about the openness that accompanied a seat in the front row: if a teacher called on you, there was no mistaking those cold eyes glaring at only you for the answer. You couldn't slip away and hide in the crowd: you were going to respond to the question, whether the answer was wrong or right, locked to your seat by a gripping silence.

I slipped into the seat behind Ericka. She frowned for a moment, but she shrugged as I gave her a firm smile.

Fortunately, we weren't the only ones there. A few others were already speckling the seats, and as time passed, more and more girls came to fill in the seats. They were talking and laughing, acting as though this was an all girls' boarding school, not a place where they learned to hone their superpowers.

A white door on the sidewall opened and all those who were standing and talking, sat and were silent.

A man with short clipped grey hair and a silver goatee, that swirled out like white branches stepped into the room, a clipboard and paper in his hand. He had steely eyes and a hard shape to his chin. He swirled more than walked and finally, after several crisp tapings of heels clicking to the ground, he stopped and faced us.

"My name is Evan Tremaine." He surveyed his class with a glare, not unkindly but not full of brilliant warmth either. He was the teacher and we were the students; that was the way he believed it to be. We were expected to follow. Holding in a groan, I slumped down the seat. He was going to be just like the rest of them.

"The only reason I say this," he continued, "is due to our new student."

A smooth hand gestured towards me and I wished desperately for my seat to give way and I would fall into the center of the earth.

"Your name?"

The class turned to look. Every eye was waiting for my answer and even though I had escaped the first row I was still compelled to say the answer. Stupidly, I thought that I could blend in, that no one would notice the "new girl."

"Reid." I said, sitting up to my full height. They had noticed me. Nothing to do about that now. "Reid Robinson."

There was a breadth of silence before a soft wind of whispers swept around the room. What did she know? What could she do? Where was she from? Who was she?

Tremaine silenced the class with one shift of his gaze to each person in the room. Again, this was not cruel, just simply authoritative.

"Now, you might be slightly behind," he said, his gaze sliding back to me. "And I would be happy to help you catch up. But later."

I nodded, my dry throat making my tongue swell. Tremaine nodded curtly, spun on his brown heel and went to one of the boards. He pulled on one of the strings and a poster of a thing made of dark orange scales with a crown of black horns spiking out of its head slipped down into view.

"Starting off where we left, can anyone tell me what this is?"

A tiny brunette raised her hand, a hideous wave of superiority rolling off her. I twisted in my seat to put the farthest amount of space between us. Fingers crossed that a demon eats her first.

"That's a Gre'tal demon," the brunette squeaked gleefully.

Tremaine nodded and began to point out all the vital organs of the demon, occasionally quizzing us about the names and the functions of each. The brunette raised her hand for each, but thankfully Tremaine called on others. We then moved on to a gnoll's language, before Tremaine glanced at his watch and waved us out. I waited, and as expected, he handed me a green folder and a highlighter. He nodded and before left the room, there was a shimmer of curiosity in his blue-grey eyes. I began flipping through the packet and watching Ericka through the corner of my eye, I followed her.

Inside the green packet, there were pictures and pages of slimy things, suckerfaced things, purple lizards with shark heads and most interestingly about a stack of information on vampires. How to kill vampires, where to find vampires, feeding habits and pack hunting grounds: it was all in here. There was even a complete diagram of the jaw structure of a vampire, from the deadly incisors connecting a valve underneath the nasal cavity leading out into the pharynx and into the throat. So blood really did run into a vampire's throat . . .

"Hey, wake up. Next class."

"What?" I slammed the folder closed to see Ericka grinning that knowing smile.

"Last class and I think you'll like this."

"That was just fifty minutes, and there's only one more class of the day?" I asked in disbelief. Maybe I could get used to this.

"Yeah, rest of the day usually is spent on demon-rounds."

"Demon rounds?"

Ericka nodded and pushed open a double metal door. I had been so absorbed by the packet, the journey down here had completely passed me by. How to get back to the dorm, I hadn't the faintest idea.

"Teams go out in rounds and go either across the country, or even the world to check out or maybe take out any demon activity. The more experienced girls get to go to Romania and the new ones usually just go somewhere around the state."

"Teams?"

We walked through a long stone hallway and every few feet on the wall were spotted with double doors with two round holes. I couldn't see through them, as we were moving too fast to get a decent look, but there was definite movement beyond the glass. There were also sounds, strange sounds. If I had to place them, they could come from some sort of martial arts movie. There were shouts, female shouts, but not of pain, or anger, just power. And occasionally, there was a crack of wood hitting wood, or metal hitting wood. These were quiet sounds, as though away in a large distance. But they were there.

"Yep. You might be in mine, because you're my roommate, but I can't guarantee anything."

"Yipee," I muttered as we passed a door labeled Weaponry. Ericka didn't seem to hear my previous remark, so I continued on. "What's in there?"

Ericka turned to see me jerk a thumb over my shoulder. "That, is just what it says. It holds the swords and stakes and crossbows. The staves and maces and the numchucks, they're all in there. Before a mission, we go in there and grab what we want. I like me a good solid stake."

I repressed a snort. It was like Van Helsing had been cloned into hundreds of monster hunters, and of course, minus the leathery coat and beard . . . and you know, other parts.

"You're lucky you came when you did," Ericka said over her shoulder as the hallways became thinner. "We rotate training rooms and this happened to be my week we go in the big gym."

"Is there a bright pink neon scoreboard?" I muttered, the sentence verging on being unheard. But Ericka did catch what I said.

"Bright pink? I don't think so. But scoreboard, yes."

That faltered my smirk for a moment.

"Are you serious?"

We had stopped outside another set of double doors but these were painted a scarlet red. Ericka stopped with a hand on the handle to look at me, grinning slightly.

"Every word. The scoreboard is the amount of bruises you get from someone else and how many you give to them."

With that, she opened the door and stepped inside. I followed, immediately ignoring the goose bumps that were suddenly livid over my skin.

This room, at one time, might have been a high school gym. It was certainly large enough, except there were no bleachers and no logo painted on the floor. Instead, large blue mats covered the wood floor and weapons of every sort imaginable were set inside of a large continuous metal cage, stretching from the far end corner of the room to the other side. A half circle of girls sat in the very center mat, talking and stretching. They all wore running shoes and sweatpants, even the occasional jumper.

"Yoga time?"

"No, it's just the most comfortable clothes to wear." Ericka then glanced to my jeans, corduroy jacket, and thick black boots. "Yeah, lose the jacket and boots. It'll hurt."

"What will hurt?" I asked grudgingly and removed the outer layer of clothing.

"When you fall on your ass." Ericka chuckled. We sat down in the outer end of the half circle. A pretty Asian girl slid next to Ericka, smiling with beautifully white teeth.

"Hey, how's the side?" She asked Ericka, dark eyes sliding to Ericka's hip.

"Better. I'm off the greenroot stuff the wiccans had been giving me. Now its just patches o' gauze for me."

"Good, 'cus you totally missed out on Greenwich. Major demon-slayage. Oh, hi, sorry, I'm Yuri." The Asian said to me and extended a hand. For a moment I hesitated, then grasped the thin hand momentarily.

"Reid."

"So how long have you been here?"

I looked at her, something snarky about being unconscious for three weeks on the tip of my tongue. Instead:

"A day and a half."

"What do you think of this place? Amazing, right? I mean we're practically superheroes!"

"Amazing, I don't know. Beyond freaky, that sounds about right."

Yuri laughed. "Yeah, it's totally insane your first few weeks. But this, this class, is the best part. I mean, once you start, you feel like, you know that, you're never suppose to stop."

"Stop what?" I asked, finally giving the girl a good stare.

She opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, a door at the far end of the gym opened. Kennedy strode through, wearing a glare equal to that of a sergeant general's snarl. She walked similar to that general as well. Contrary to the rest of the girls, she wore cargo pants and combat boots and her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Her mouth a thin line and her eyes purified wood, Kennedy was having the time of her life.

"Ladies, nothing's different since the day you stepped in here. What are you waiting for?"

Her eyes glowed as the girls dispersed across the mats. They went off in groups of about two or four, stepped a few feet back from a partner and then, attacked. Immediately, a storm of ninjas came to mind as I stood in the dead center of a room full of martial art fighters. They whirled and kicked and punched. Some fell to the ground. Others jumped into the air and slammed their feet into their opponents' face. I tried to turn, to get out of the mass, but every time I turned, there was a leg or an arm or a body that stopped me.

"Hey, newbie!" Kennedy yelled and I turned to see her standing on a corner of a mat with something between a grin and a snarl plastered on her face. "You make it uneven, so you get to fight me."

"Fight?" I asked. "I am not. Doing. This."

"Just try it out." At that moment, I knew it wasn't about teaching me how to fight. She just wanted to kick the crap out of something. And that really pissed me off.

I stepped over to her and crossed my arms. "So what, we bow to our sensai?"

"No, like this."

She stepped back, her front arm crossed down over her body and the other curled back. I raised an eyebrow, the headshake clearly unneeded. "I'm still waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop out and do that stupid face of his."

"Well, he's not. So come on, in stance and fight me."

I barely pulled my foot back behind me before she moved and kicked out. My balance lost, I fell to the ground and hit my shoulder.

"Come on, do this again. Where's that instinct to kill?"

"Oh, it's here, I promise." I growled and pulled myself to my feet.

"Then lets see it."

I pulled myself back into stance and she kicked out again, in the same way but I shuffled and she missed. That was pretty cool, until her elbow jerked up and swiped against my jaw. I stumbled to the side, my jaw popping with pain. She grinned a disgusting smile as I rubbed at the pain, wondering if it was possible for that part of your body to be dislocated. I stepped at her again, and this time swung forward. She ducked and at that, I kicked her side. She twisted away, the grin faltering. Apparently, it stung. It was my turn to be smug. That didn't settle well with Kennedy at all.

She hopped closer and punched at my chest. She missed, but only barely; I leaned away at the last second. Then, without prior warning, a wildly fast knee jerked up and hit me in the stomach. I doubled over and she punched me to the ground.

She wasn't exactly laughing at me but she was towering over me in such a way that made furious anger bolt out of my chest in an uncontrolled fury. I slammed my fist to the ground and bounded to my feet. I punched at her, faster and faster, Kennedy shoving my punches away. A frustrated growl hissed out from my gritted teeth as I pushed forward with my punches and we slid back towards the edge of the mat. Somewhere off in the far distance, I noticed all else was quiet in the gym, except for the smash of bone against bone and the occasional grunt from me.

She was no longer grinning, but my attacks weren't causing her to concentrate. They were fended off easily, and that idea, made me only move faster and hit harder. I hadn't reached furious, but my anger was reaching a boiling point.

"You're not a Slayer," I heard her mutter. "You might be new but this should be instinctual."

This tipped me over the edge. Instead of swinging around, I punched forward, faster and faster. Anger was fighting to get out of me, the feeling slowly evolving into rage. Kennedy wasn't even looking at me anymore; she was doing her very best to keep the punches from landing into her stomach.

Blood was pulsing in my ears, blocking out anything that wasn't the target and my wild fists. But now, they weren't just insane flings of my arms. They were slow and controlled but unbelievably powerful. The awareness bubble had encased me again and I could feel Kennedy's fear. It was cold and heavy, like molasses. Time slowed and with each breath I took, I felt my lungs expand and slow down. Each drop of sweat that splattered on the mat was like a rush of water pouring over a cliff face. Sweat made my palms smooth. Kennedy's eyes were focused on my fists, her thick eyelids dropping slowly and then picking back up again. I raised my right arm, my shirt sticking to my side with sweat. Then, with surprising speed in this world of heavy clarity, I punched Kennedy right in the face.

Time awoke again from its temporary sleep. As soon as my fist collided with her face, she flew back, falling faster than I realized. She hit the wood and slid for a moment, before sitting up and putting a hand to her face. Blood was gushing from her nose and her eyes were wide and terrified. I flexed my fingers and heard a pop.

"Kennedy," Xander was at the door where the older Slayer had first come in. "What's going on?"

He stepped over and helped the girl to her feet. By the way her brown eyes never left my face, it wasn't the bleeding nose that frightened her. Xander looked over at me, his dark brows knitting together as his stare switched from me to Kennedy.

"Come on, Willow will fix you up." Xander pulled her out the door, and I watched them go, turning as I did. They finally disappeared behind the doors and I looked out at the group of girls watching me. Apparently, they had been watching me the whole time and as I returned the glare, everyone twitched away, a sort of flinch. They were absolutely terrified of me. Not in the good way, as in a scary respect. They were scared, that kind of icy-cold fear that runs down your back and makes you jerk awake in nightmares. It was a deep and intimate fear they felt. For the newbie. For me.

Oh crap.


	7. Chapter 7: What May Be, May Not

**Chapter 7: What May be, May Not.**

* * *

I left the gym, not staying another moment under the glare of horror and entered a concrete maze of hallways.

Immediately, I had three choices to make, one straight, one left and one right. Not curbing my furious walk, I chose the one ahead and walked on. My mind was as blank as the stone walls around me; I willed it to be, refusing to think about that scene in the gym. Whatever it was. It was weird, granted, that the awareness took over at that moment and I so easily kicked her ass in that state of mind, but from the demonologists and the vampires, how weird could it be for this place? Even then, as I tried to argue with myself, something still felt off.

A metal staircase appeared in front of me and immediately, I took them, weaving up and up through stone. I passed by several doors, probably several floors and yet, I didn't stop. I walked and walked, continuing without end. Could I walk in this place until my feet bled?

It had been— or felt like it had been— hours and I still had yet to run into a human face.

_It's going away . . . it's going away . . . going . . . going . . . gone_

Then, I heard arguing, but I couldn't tell from where. Only one door stood next to me, and a stone column was to my right. I opened the door, but the noise didn't get louder— the door only leading out into a hallway. The door closing, I then noticed a slit along the wall, in the crevice of the door and the wall. I ran a hesitant hand down the slit and the wall to my left shifted back to reveal a crawl space large enough for me to fit through. The scene downstairs completely forgotten, I stepped into the hole and walked forward.

Dust clung everywhere and insulation padding hung in tattered patches along the walls. I walked on, and then, when the stale air was almost unbearable, a brush of cool wind ran around the corner. I walked on, and saw a jagged cut in the stone. I poked an eye through and my jaw dropped.

Buffy and "the gang" were all sitting in various places around what looked to be a bedroom while Buffy stood staring at all of them.

"She's not crazy," Buffy said firmly. "We can't always pick up Sunny Abby from Brightberg Farms. These are girls from everywhere, all different backgrounds. We're bound to have some . . . rough girls."

"Rough, yeah." Xander said. I couldn't see him but I recognized his voice. "Rough, that's ok. But rough leads to painful and pointy. And painful and pointy girls are bad. Faith was painful and pointy—"

He paused and, by the way his breath hitched, I imagined his face turning bright red as if he remembered something horrible. He audibly gulped. " . . . but, uh, my point is that this girl could become the next killer of Bill. I mean Kennedy, Kennedy, the girl who wrote the book on Hard Ass, was shaking when I brought her back to the hospital."

"Yeah, Buffy, I don't know about her." Willow said. "Kennedy was a little rattle-y and she didn't talk much. She just kept saying something about 'being very fast' and being 'too slow'. And her forearms were completely black and blue. Like she had been blocking off attacks from uh . . . the killer of Bill."

"Maybe we should talk to her roommate, you know see what's going on behind closed doors. Like if she's taken out any scary weapons and polishes glass eyeballs of her past victims." Buffy said, a frown growing over her face as she considered the very real possibility.

"Buffy, that's overacting just a bit, don't you think?" I heard Giles say. "I believe you were right with what you said, about her bad background, which was why we took such precautions with taking in her before. But I think she has potential. Although those precautions shouldn't be forgotten . . ." He said this last very pointedly, clearly implying something.

"'Precautions'?" Buffy asked. " What are you talking about, G—,"

Her voice caught as she realized what he meant. "Oh, no, no, no, no. Giles, I am NOT fan of that plan. Willow, tell Crazy here what she almost did to Kennedy! We cannot just let that girl loose!"

"Buffy, be reasonable here. Think about what you just said, moments before. She will not be 'let loose'. Spike can train her. Like it or not, Spike is a far bit more . . . rouged than Kennedy and can probably withstand a good deal more than she. Let him catch her up on the basics and let him assess her as to whether or not she is insane."

"But hello, vampire and Slayer. She gets pissy and Spike goes poof. She might not know how yet, but eventually she will and if _he's_ the one training her, he'll go poof faster than ever."

"However, should we explain he must remain . . . un-staked, then she should abide by what we say and, if she doesn't . . ."

"Its kind of point one for the crazy score." Xander said quietly. "Not that I ever like a plan involving the help of Spike, this _is_ kind of what he does."

"Die?" Buffy asked in shock.

"No, but he does like to mash stuff. Why not take a newbie with him into the journey of death and destruction?"

Buffy was quiet for a moment, her arms crossed and there was a momentary flash of a bizarre something on Buffy's face; something appeared there that wasn't supposed to. Then it was gone. She straightened her shoulders, her face tight.

"So, I'm supposed to leave this room, go find Spike and tell him that he's been promoted to serial-killer babysitter?"

"Not 'babysitter' exactly, he will train her and make her a better Slayer, while at the same time check for signs of . . . an unbalanced mind."

"And if she is 'unbalanced' then what?"

"We send her to the remaining Council." Giles said this with an air of slight disgust, loathing and such finality, "the Council" very well might have been hell on Earth.

"Could I again say that I no-likey this plan?" Buffy said, in a soft voice, trying again but Giles stood and put a firm hand on her shoulder.

"I know you of all people would be apprehensive about this but we have to put the benefit of this girl first. Spike is a skilled fighter and she would receive the best training, which is what we should consider. Maybe if Angel came back from L.A for a while, this could help you settle—"

"No!" Buffy said a bit too loudly. She flushed for just a moment before pulling away from Giles and heading towards the door. "No, Giles, it's ok. You're right; this is the best thing to do. We have to put this Reid girl as a high priority. I just don't like Spike being alone with someone that's one 'cu' short of a cuckoo bird. Thanks, guys." She smiled to everyone in the room then left.

Giles walked over to the door to close it completely, his glasses off and a forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Do you really think its safe, for Spike to be alone with someone like her?" Willow asked.

"I don't think anything will happen if he doesn't want it to. Spike nearly bested Buffy herself more than once. My only worry is what affect he will have on her. Soul or not, Spike enjoys a decent fight and all I can hope for is that she doesn't give him one, pushing him over the edge."

"You think he would kill her?" Willow asked, her voice very small.

"No," Giles said quickly, as if to reassure Willow. "I would never have suggested the idea if I did. But that's my fear. We can never exactly predict what Spike will do. I simply do not know the limitations of the soul, what will it let him do and what it won't."

"Like if he broke her arm or something, would he feel bad about it?"

"It's the something I'm worried about."

* * *

The sun had set by the time I had reached the main foyer. From the massive amount of noise coming from the oak doors adjacent to the front, it was dinner. Not a soul was in sight and I took that as a blessing. If one more person looked at me like I was the thing that ate the thing from the Black Lagoon, I'd explode.

My arms were wrapped me in almost a straightjacket fashion as I crossed the wooden floors, my footfalls echoing lightly. Wild scarlet hair hung in front of my eyes as my head was dipped slightly, with my neck buried in the jacket's collar. A slight metallic taste oozed into my mouth from my clamped lips; if they were any tighter together I would have bitten through flesh. If my behavior could be described, an onlooker would have said I was trying to implode on myself. Everything was tight and cramped, my legs the only mobile thing.

I walked up to the fair metal staircase and swirled up through the floors. Whether it was subconscious or not, my feet managed to bring me to my mahogany wood door. I blinked as my hand touched cool metal, the journey getting here flashing across my mind in incomplete trains of thought. Immediately, I went to my dresser and pulled out a grey zip-up sweatshirt. The smell clinging to the jacket was that of autumn Manhattan. The scent of roasted almonds and burning fireplaces raised a thousand memories to mind, most very happy without a following stab to the heart. For a single moment, I remember being in the snow, sheltered by white and a pleasant cold. A little girl in my memory wore this very jacket and now she did again. I crawled to the corner of my bed, where the pillows met the wall, and lifted the hood over my head. Imaginary gusts of cold pricked my ears and I melted farther and farther away into the jacket.

They believed I was dangerous, possibly crazy, so they were setting me up with another loonie to make me into a better weapon.

Maybe they were the crazy ones.

They didn't know I knew. Who was going to tell me? How were they going to tell me? Would it be quietly, just in passing? Or would it be a huge ordeal, to make sure everyone knew about the crazy girl?

Suddenly, I was thrown into darkness and the lights flipped off. With closed eyes, I heard Ericka move around the bedroom, go into the bathroom for a moment then crawl into bed. It was about an hour later when slow shallow breathing echoed around the room.

Was she scared of me too?

A squirmy, tight feeling slipping on the inside of my stomach, I jerked under the covers and stared at the wall until my eyes pulled themselves shut.

* * *

Ericka left again in the early morning and returned later with a biscuit and some orange juice. I already changed into a semi-clean pair of clothes by the time she came back. We hadn't said a word to each other all morning.

"You really should eat." She finally said, after leaving the food on the edge my bed and now lacing up running shoes. "You'll need it."

"Why is there going to be something different today?" I asked, trying to pull anything out of her.

"Not really," Ericka replied, very smoothly. I was still expecting the rest of the answer and in that brief hesitation in which she made up an excuse, I knew she was nervous. "We're going to see Willow today and breaking off spells can be hard on an empty stomach."

"Oh. Right."

I reached over and took the biscuit. It didn't look appetizing in the slightest. Ericka had gone to the bathroom and using that moment, I hid the biscuit in one of the drawers under the lamp. As she came back out, I chugged the orange juice. It was sharp and bitter and wonderful. My throat and nostrils burned as I drank the last drop. Ericka was watching me.

"Hungry." I muttered and followed her out the door.

We headed down to the main hall where, instead of going off into one of the other halls, Ericka walked across the wood foyer and went to the main door. She opened it and immediately a sharp gush of winter wind tackled my face. I closed the door behind us, shivering. Ericka saw me with my hands deep in my pockets.

"Don't worry, it's just a short walk."

We walked down stone steps and out to a circled, cobblestone driveway. At the far end of the cobblestones, a large brick wall ran left and right out of sight, opened only by a metal gate, similar to the circular stairs inside. A path led off from the cobblestones, weaving through foliage and thick trees. Ericka stepped onto it and I followed her. We were eventually dumped out by the side of the house, and my mouth dropped.

Green was as far as the eye could see, from green fields patched with dirt in a way that showed the telltale sign of a beaten path, to the large trees, spotted with target carved into their barks. Next to those trees were boxes with loaded crossbows sitting atop them. But Ericka walked passed those, and even passed a station that held what looked to be large water guns, but in the chamber that usually held the water, a fiery liquid swirled. It flashed and shifted although the gun was completely still. After staring at it for too long, I suddenly received a foreboding chill, as though the liquid stood for some darker purpose. But I couldn't stare too long for Ericka walked at a brisk pace and I jogged a moment to catch up. A group of girls was doing a warm up on a patch of dirt about twenty feet away. It resembled yoga but there was something fiercer about their movements than regular positions.

A harsh wind suddenly picked up and scooped the inside of my jacket.

"Is this thing outside?" I asked and noticed for the first time that Ericka wore a large red parka, while I only had my thin grey jacket. A grumble of annoyance thundered in my stomach.

"No, in the summer it is. But right, now it's in a tent."

True enough, as we passed the group, we went down a small hill and at the end a giant tent waited. But it was unlike any other tent I had ever seen. It was unbelievably huge, circus-like in size and painted purple with gold and scarlet lines drawing patterns and pictures all over. Green and blue fabric was attached to the roof without any apparent glue or tape. Yellow sheets with black prints emblazed on them hung around the strings that kept the tent to the ground. A column of white smoke poured out of the very top of the tent. Had I not know what it was, I would have said it was the home of a very gay Indian nomad.

We stumbled down the hill and Ericka pulled back a layer of fabric. I caught the fabric as it closed and followed her in. The symbols continued on the inside of the tent. Randomly, I recognized several Egyptian signs and Greek letters. There were even a few Asian symbols. Mix matched square mats covered the inside, similar to the outer coverings only this was more extensive. There was not a single scrap of tent material to be seen, the rug-like scraps pasted on the floors and walls, everywhere. No windows were in sight yet somehow the room was bathed in a gentle warm glow. As we circled around, Ericka dived into stack of maroon pillows, and I saw a small metal moveable fireplace with a large black chimney puffing hidden smoke out of the tent.

Yuri had appeared from nowhere and involved Ericka in a deep conversation, so I took up a pillow cave of my own, immediately being swallowed by the dark plush after sitting down. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed a few other girls in the other pillow lounges. They were all talking and chattering and giggling. Whatever Yuri was telling Ericka, it was clearly hilarious. And whatever the brunette was telling the blonde across the room, it was obviously scandalous. The group behind me was playing "Anywhere but Here." Someone to my far right was speaking in fluent Farsi and the girl with whom she was speaking replied in what sounded like German. Someone in the room was speaking in clicks and someone else sung a short song. It was loud, too loud and quickly evolving into pointless white noise.

A large curtain above the far back wall opened and a white light illuminated the room, then slowly the light faded and Willow moved out into the center of the room. She wore a dress that resembled dried seaweed. Her hair cascaded down thin white shoulders, the image of water on an ice glacier coming to mind. She wore a pleasant expression, one that was calm and relaxed.

"Howdy," she grinned and waved around the room. "So if you guys remember anything from last week, I think we'll be starting up around charms, how to shake them off and know when someone is under the influence of one."

Kennedy appeared from behind the same curtain Willow had and smiled.

"So, we'll be starting off with knowing if someone is under a charm."

Willow's hand shimmered a soft gold and immediately a glazed look fell over Kennedy's face.

"What's your name?" Willow asked the girl beside her.

"Kennedy," she replied, her face still very distant.

"Now, see the victim might be aware of basic facts, like name or date, and they might behave kinda normally, depending on how powerful the spell, but even then they will always be a little sketchy on the certain type of information that is relative to whatever their caster is trying to hide. Like here, I cast a spell on Kennedy to make her keep a secret about where this place is. Example."

"Where are we?" Willow asked.

"Check a map, silly."

A collective chuckle spread around the group, finding the fact that their drill sergeant used the word "silly" chuckle-worthy.

"See, they'll use an answer that sounds right, but never a definitive response."

Willow raised a glowing hand, and the glassy eyes vanished.

"Now, as you entered, I put a spell on several of you. Whoever figures out who was charmed by the time class is over, gets a reprieve on being charmed next time."

There was a short silence as everyone looked to their neighbor, as though one of them would jump up and shout, "I'm a charmed one!" But obviously, no one did and slowly they climbed to their feet and began to look around. Kennedy was whispering something to Willow, which made her turn crimson in the face and give the brunette a toothy smile before looking back at the girls, who had started to interview each other.

"Who's the President?"

"Who do YOU think the President is?"

"Oh, hey, you're avoiding!"

"Am not!"

I rolled my eyes, snuggling deeper into the cushions, hoping they would eat me whole. Ericka noticed my wiggling and came over, Yuri off on the other side of the room, asking two French girls some very serious questions.

"So, um, where are we?"

"Southern Oregon, in a place where Slayers are trained by a girl named Buffy Summers. Oh and her very gay, best friend, Willow."

Ericka paused, and I nodded over her shoulder. Kennedy was next to the witch, both surveying the group of girls. Very slowly, the brunette reached over and brushed her fingertips on the witch's side. Willow turned scarlet again and bit her lip slightly before batting her hand away. Ericka's mouth dropped.

"Oh . . ." She muttered. She glanced back at me. "How long have you known? Did she tell you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "When you look at Willow, there's no huge DUH that goes off in your head?"

"I mean a little but . . . wow."

Ericka was still staring as I rolled my eyes.

"So where are we?"

"Are you sure she's gay?"

"Gay-dar. Flashing. Yes. Tell me some basics so I can get this stupid thing over with."

"She doesn't really act like it. Maybe Kennedy is trying to make her gay . . ."

"Ericka, it's not that big a deal!" I exclaimed and sat up, grabbing her shoulder to face me. "Come on! Focus on—"

Focus. She was completely unfocused, fixated on something very insignificant. She's Charmed. I let go of her shoulder, and fell back in the cushions. Ericka was completely unaware of my revelation, still staring absentmindedly at Willow and Kennedy.

She came in right before me. I followed her in. Did magic work in such away that it on the person it was aiming for? Or was it like a gas where it could be spread, as in from one person then onto the next.

Yuri. My eyes whirled around the room as I searched for the Asian. She was still talking to the French girls but now they wore confused faces.

Wait, so if she was infected that means so was I.

I grabbed Ericka again, literally sitting in front of her to keep her staring at my face.

"Ask me a question. Ask me anything."

"Why are you holding me like this?"

My jaw clenched, I shook her by the shoulders. "Another question, Ericka. Think of the exercise. We're close."

"Um . . . who's the President?"

"No!"

"Ms. Rosenberg!"

A girl in the far back corner of the tent raised her hand, a determined look on her face.

"I think I know who's Charmed."

Willow grinned. "Ok, Jess, lets hear your guesstimation?"

"Marie-Elise and Laure."

Yuri frowned, for those were the two girls she had been talking too and obviously hadn't suspected them as Charmed. But, true enough, the two girls' frowns melted away and they smiled brightly.

"What's the poof for that?"

Jess, the girl in the back, shrugged. "They're kind of playing the obvious card. They're not asking questions, to anyone."

Yuri's frown grew darker, bearing on the edge of scowl as she stared up at the girl in the back. But she ignored the growing glares from around the room.

"Very good, Jess. You're exempt-girl."

There was an inaudible growl.

That simply wasn't good enough.

"Wait." I said and stood. Willow looked at me and frowned slightly. Apparently she hadn't forgotten my more than hostile attitude in the hospital ward. I stood straighter and angled my jaw out.

"I think Ericka could have been affected. And maybe me."

Willow's frown deepened, turning from slight aggression to curiosity. "Maybe you could be a little off. Since it's your first day and all but I only put spell on two people."

"But can't spell change directly, or go wrong—"

"Not Willow's." Kennedy stepped forward, slightly blocking Willow from my view.

"Things can always go wrong," I said pointedly, more at Kennedy than Willow. "But isn't it true that spells can be spread through contact." Attempt one for the Bullshit Community. "When I tried to question Ericka, she didn't respond, only stared at Will—"

Realization hit me like a lightening bolt. I froze, standing above the rest of the Slayers in the sea of cushions with all eyes upon me, and no words would come to my mouth. I glanced at Ericka, but she wasn't even looking at me. She sat, twisted away, with a blonde lock of hair covering the half of her face that I should have been able to see.

I didn't get a melodrama Barbie. I got her gay cousin.

Willow glanced at us, the unbearably tight feeling in the room reaching an agonizing level.

"Well, yeah." She said. I didn't tear my eyes away from Ericka. "Spells could pass through contact but that's not usually what happens. But you did make a good point."

Willow turned away from us, the frown gone but her eyes dark as if she knew what I had just done.

"If you believe someone near you is under the influence, you might want to get checked yourself. Maybe the spell wouldn't have passed through contact, but you certainly could have been enchanted too. So, remember if you're close by, get checked! Class dismissed."

There was a subtle chuckle, the innuendo obviously not missed. Girls got up and left, all in groups laughing and chuckling. A few were actually talking to that other girl Jess. The laughter made me start.

"Look, I didn't—"

"Shut up, Reid," Ericka said beneath the hair. She looked up at me and I could tell that she was trying with all her power, to keep from crying. Her blue eyes were shimmering. "You were bad news from the start. I heard you were dangerous but I didn't know you'd be such a bitch. Please, just leave me the hell alone."

She then stood and bolted from the tent. Yuri saw her leave in a flurry, her face hurt and empathetic. She stared out of the tent for a while before giving me a hideous glare and walking out after Ericka.

I needed to hit something. And that certainly wasn't the Slayer talking. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Willow walk towards me. Immediately, I rushed from the cushions and whipped through the curtain leading outside. The sun was bright, though the afternoon was foggy and thick. I rushed up to the house and slipped through the door and began to walk. Gym, or training —or whatever the fuck they liked to call it— was next, but honestly, I had no idea how to get there and asking anyone for directions was out of the question, so I'd resort to what I did best. Skip. Skip the damn class. It's not like anybody was going to try and stop me.

Maybe I just wanted to walk. Walk until my feet bled. Yeah, that sounded like a great plan. Walk through those front doors and—

"Reid Robinson?"

I spun, my name jerking me into reality. The guy with the eye patch, Xander, was walking up to me.

"No. I don't know who that girl is."

"Laughs a plenty," he glared. "Lets go."

He moved passed me, but I stayed frozen to the ground. "Where?"

"Let's just call it 'special treatment'."

"As in spa?" I followed him. "Great, because there are these bastards of calluses—"

_Damn. Double damn. Triple damn. Shit. Double shit. Mother—_

"What?"

He stopped walking. I was a few feet back and he glanced over his shoulder, wrinkling his nose as if he smelled something foul.

"Nothing. Just remembered something I forgot to do."

That something was to run as fast I could away from this place the second I heard about the 'extra training sessions'. But of course, they didn't know that I knew that they thought I was the female version of the not-nice-one Terminator.

This time I paid attention to the trek down to the bottom of the house. Off the main foyer, we went along one of the main hallways until it ditched off into a spiral staircase. Around and around we went until the walls became concrete-like. Pipes littered the ceiling and gauges pocketed the corners. Though I had never been on one, this place reminded me of a submarine.

He led me down a thin concrete hall, and a door stood at the far end. It was empty and something told me not everyone here knew about this door or, more or less, it wasn't open to the public. He knocked twice paused and knocked again. There was a soft whoosing sound and Xander barreled through, barely leaving me enough room to squeeze in after.

The room was dimly lit but I could tell it was very small. In the dark, I could make out a table and some hanging lights. Beyond that, shadows moved and I realized it was a mirror. Xander was nowhere insight. The lights snapped on and I glared into the bright light. The table had two chairs sitting across from each other and had they been made of metal, I _might _have suspected something.

Buffy entered into the room from a door that I hadn't seen before. She gave a small smile, before gesturing to one of the chairs. I didn't return the expression as I sat down.

"Hey, so, um, how's training?" She asked and sat down as well.

"Fantastic. Except for the whole me beating your friend to a bloody pulp." I sneered, crossing my arms. "It's been great. Thanks for asking."

Her lips pulled into a pucker as she glared back at me. She finally looked away. "Look, I know this seems kind of weird—"

"Oh really?" I laughed harshly. "Being shoved into a dark interrogation room that would make Jack Bauer shake like a little girl, that's not weird at all! But if we are going to have a game of State the Obvious, I'll just go."

I leaned back, but she reached out and I frowned again.

"Look, we're just here to help."

I gave her my skeptic face.

"You haven't been given the easy free ride in life, we know that. And now with the Slayer thing, it can seem bad, really bad. But it doesn't have to be." Buffy had dropped the bad-cop façade and was now reasoning with me, trying to put us onto equal ground. Like we would ever reach there.

"So you only just got into the gig and we haven't picked up anybody in a while so, in all fairness to you, you can't just pick up with the rest of them."

I shrugged. "So what does that mean for me, besides being second-class?"

"God, you're not—" Buffy began, and stopped. She closed her eyes, and opened them slowly, her patience fraying quickly. "The gist of this is you're going to take some extra training. With a private tutor." She added quietly.

Pissing her off would be fun. "A private tutor?" I asked, incredulously. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Means that after your morning classes, you're going to come down to a back room and he'll train you."

"He?"

Even if I didn't know she thought I was a short fuse, it was obvious she didn't like this.

"Yes. He. Spike. That guy—"

"I shot? But look at that, he didn't die. Why? Because, oh right, vampire!"

"Stop! Ok! Stop complaining!" She barked. "He's one of the best fighters I have ever met and he's going to train you, teach you the basics of fighting. But yeah, ok, he's dangerous but that was along time ago. He would never hurt anyone any more, because of his soul. A soul he almost died to get. He risked everything to be a better man and its time someone around here showed him the respect he deserved!"

She ended, standing and panting, with a string of hair hanging in her face. She tucked the hair back behind her ear and straightened her shoulders. I watched her with an eyebrow raised.

"Got it?" She asked.

"Perfectly." I grinned maliciously.

So there was some history going on here. Dating history perhaps? A bloody history? Either way, this would be fun.

"So what's next, Sergeant?" I asked in mock-seriousness. I stood up, and clapped my heels together, my hand raising up in a salute. "Off to the bunkers for me?"

"No, we thought we could do your first lesson with Spike right now." Buffy said and crossed her arms, her stance immediately changing to one of superiority. "Is that alright with you?"

"Yep, all fine here." I said and stretched. I recognized a small waver of uncertainty pass through me. "So when do I get to meet the big guy?"

Xander appeared from the door Buffy had. "All settled?"

"Yeah, we're done."

He nodded and was about to leave when Buffy called us back.

"Reid, no matter what your Slayer sense tells you," Buff said, her eyes glittering fiercely. "Spike is, in no way, to be staked, beheaded or in anyway killed. Alright?"

My eyebrow twitched up again, and I nodded. "Whatever you say, Mrs. Boss."

I followed Xander out the door, throwing Buffy a peace sign over my head. He walked quickly, knowing I would keep up. We went back through the small hallway and when I looked over my shoulder, the door to the dark room was gone. There was only a tremor of surprise. He led me down another concrete hall, to another room I was sure the general population didn't know about.

"This is Buffy's private training room. She thought it'd be better if, you know—"

"No one noticed I was gone?"

I frowned, a strange feeling settling in my stomach. He was a vampire. This guy, Spike, was living dead. Dracula-type and from what it sounds like, twice as dangerous. I thought back to the day in the hospital ward, trying to pull a face to the name. Light hair, neon light, right? And blue eyes, frightening eyes. Eyes that swallowed you up and tossed you out, covered in blood and broken. No, that wasn't from that day. The memory of eyes that killed came from the night I murdered him. Or thought I did.

"Xander—"

"Mr. Harris," he said icily.

"_Mr. Harris_," I growled. "What's this Spike like?"

"A murder, a cradle-robber, a torturer, and an almost rapist." This time he couldn't help but grin. Xander's hand on the doorknob twisted and the lock clicked back. The door swung in and Xander led the way in with a sweep of his arms. "Good luck."

I stepped in the room, turning immediately to ask him something else, anything else so I wouldn't have to face what lay in the rest of the room. But Xander was gone, the metal door blank and uncaring as his face.

"So . . ." The British musical note floated around the room, making me cringe. "Shall we move on or are you going to stare at the door some more?"

I turned and the face came rushing back to me. He stood, clad in black from head to foot and smoking. Literally. A burning cigarette faintly emitted smoke from between his two pale fingers and he brought the short end to his lips, curved them around the paper and sucked in. He let out a breath a moment later, grey smoke rushing from his sharp nose. He then tossed the still burning cigarette and crushed out the light with his heel. He stretched his black-cotton covered arms and looked me head on, a feeling of an overpowering freight train barreling down my throat becoming almost unbearable.

Shit.

* * *

***A/N-** Hey guys. First of all, no I'm not dead, didn't fall off the face of the Earth, or - worst of all - becoming a Buffy-Hater. School has literally been kicking my ass for . . . ever, BUT school's almost over and I'm doing only about two finals, so maybe this will give me some time to write. To be quite honest, I have a good couple more chapters to post before running out of new material, but it's still very raw. So, I'm working on it- I really am. So DON'T LEAVE!

I wasn't going to look at this until the summer again, but I got a VERY sweet email from Blue Talith and I'm going to be (trying) checking these more often. So if any of you guys know this dude(ette), give them props for calling the author out into the open. Thank you! I'll try and post another chapter tonight because I feel so bad :C As always, reviews feed the cookie monster!


	8. Chapter 8: Lesson the First

**Chapter 8: Lesson the First**

"You ever done anything like this before?"

Have I ever had a vampire beat the crap out of me before? No, can't say I have.

"Beat a man into the hospital once outside of a bar downtown," I said, as my gaze drifted from around the room back to the vampire. "Define this."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Fantastic." He slunk away from the wall, much like he had in the hospital room. "And this being defined as training for defense against the boogeyman."

We were in a good-sized room made of brick. Four small windows pocketed the top of the room, only letting in sheaths of light, which was sensible as one of us was deathly allergic to sunlight. The ground was made of hard concrete, with large stuffed mats covering the majority of the floor. A wooden bar ran on two sides of the square room, with huge white symbols drawn into the brick. A rack of weapons held swords and staves and small knives, all carefully placed on little pegs on a soft purple board.

"This isn't defense," I said sharply. "I'm definitely going to kill something." _Kill something_. I tested the waters. To someone in the outside world, that phrase would most likely get me arrested for threats. Here, it seemed to be a badge of honor.

The vampire seemed to miss my suspicion.

"Lady bugs don't count." He sneered.

My eyes narrowed. "This is stupid. I'm a 'Slayer' as much as the rest of them. I should be with them—"

"With your other girlie-mates?" He asked, mocking me at every step. Spike took off to the mat, his boots scrunching on the plastic. I remained firmly on my place on the concrete, arms crossed and glaring. "Who've been training for months while you've thrown around some fisty-cuffs, calling it off as a fight only because you've got Slayer strength? Not bloody likely."

"So what? I'm your padowan, to your Obi?"

"Sodding hell," Spike sighed, rolling his eyes. I could tell he was itching for another cigarette. I knew he was, because I was. "Are you going to be one of those twerps who thinks this is all a bloody joke? If you're another Andrew, then I just can't fucking do this . . ."

Spike gave in and picked up his cigarette box. A silver lighter was produced from thin air and once again, the vampire stood, smoking to calm nerves. Everything about him screamed fed-up and uninterested, but there was something more too it. His face was too clean, too sharp, his clothes too black and cold. It was as though he had been dipped into a pool of eternally clear water and from then on, he was perfectly angled. He alone stood against the blurry facades of reality and now with this new clarity, he could see the world for what it truly was. Unfortunately for the rest of humanity, he was far from impressed by what he saw.

When he looked up, his icy eyes were almost too much to bear without thinking of daggers and silver and steel and ultimate deaths.

"I'm going to tell you two things," he said. "One, this ain't gonna no picnic. This isn't an escape from the real world and your chance to be a hero hasn't arrived. In fact, it never bloody will. This is not a joke or a game. This is life and these are real people and those are real demons out there. Real demons that won't think twice about snapping you in two or drinking you so dry, you'll beg for the end."

He paused, looked down to his cigarette, took a drag and stared at the floor for a moment. "In the long run, a whole shit load of what you do really won't matter. No one will know who you are, and no one will bother to ask. You are to history, as what big fat N.Y policemen are to criminals. You are dust in the wind."

Spike dropped the nearly burnt out cigarette under his shoe again and we paused to hear the fire sizzle away.

"Second thing. When you fight, you fight to kill. You don't fight to have fun, to get a rush, to get a buzz. You fight the demon to kill it and that's all there is to it. You let it live and that can lead to more difficult . . . complications. You have one single bloody doubt in your head and you won't live to see the next sunrise. Guarantee it, ducks. Either because you're dead or undead and sunlight generally is unfavorable to us."

Spike dropped his steely gaze and shoved the ashes off the mat with a flick of his ankle.

And just like that, the moment he looked back at me, time had returned to its normal forward run. I didn't feel like I was in a vacuum, where both time and space began and ended. He was ready to get to work.

Spike stepped onto the mat.

Despite the fact that this sorry son of a bitch really rubbed me the wrong way, there was no doubt in my mind that things were about to get interesting.

"So you said you'd been in a couple of bar fights. Means you might have a pretty good hook. Let's see it."

Spike spread his arms open, inviting my punch. I, who had expected for a sudden wild flying attack from the vampire and had stood with my fists closed and waiting, stepped back, all weight on one foot and crossed my arms. My eyes dark, I raised an eyebrow, letting the other fall slightly. It was a perfect glare.

"Look, just hit me alright!" Spike sighed. "Promise you won't hurt me a lick." There was flash of something. Flash of . . . a dare?

"Thanks for saving me from that trauma." I continued to glare.

"Just do it." Spike snapped. His voice was laced with defiance, but it was colder this time. "Just pretend I'm the bloke that stole your car. Or the bastard that tried to pick you up and wouldn't go away. Or the dick who tried to take your pool table."

I grinned, smug at the irony. Alright; let's play pretend.

I stepped forward, throwing my weight into my right arm, my strong arm and hit him directly in the side. He looked like he tasted a mildly spicy pepper.

"Eh." Spike said. "Got the right motion down, but I've had grannies hit me over the head harder than that."

He spread his arms again and I went for the chest, around the solar plex.

"Keep your fist straighter. When you curve it, you loose power. Which apparently, you need a lot of."

He seemed to be made of stone, black hard stone. Two shakes of this stuff and a man twice his size would have gone down on his knees already, begging for mercy.

Hm.

I twisted down onto my own knees, aiming below the belt for a perfect shot, then out of now where his hand appeared and clenched around my fist.

"Ah, ah, ah. None of that. That's cheating."

In retrospect, this was easy to have seen coming. It would have happened sooner or later but looking back, I seriously wish it had come later. Way later.

His free hand swung up and then a pain like I had never felt before rammed its way into my jaw. I tumbled backwards, and hit the mat. The momentum kept me going and I leaned over, the pounding in my mouth traveling up to my head. Any higher in my head and there would have been a concussion for sure.

"Shit!" I yelped and looked at my hand to make sure there was no bleeding. "What the hell was that for?"

I jerked my jaw back and forth, hearing definitive pops with each movement.

"My turn." Spike grinned a truly nasty grin. "It was my turn to hit you. Sorry if not all of us here hit like a patsy."

"I do NOT hit like a patsy." I pulled myself from the ground, the sudden rush upwards making my head spin slightly.

"Yes, you do. But if you're not completely worthless, I can fix that."

I swung for his head this time, immediately got blocked and was rewarded with a crack to the nose with his elbow. I hit the mat, bouncing again.

Spike wasn't grinning. He was wearing a smirk of supreme seniority. And it wasn't an enjoyable smirk. My feet were never as fast as I would have liked them, but honestly, there was nothing to lose. I kicked left, right, each time being deflected. I went in again by the arms, but was shunned away. I kicked and punched at different places on him too but a quick step to the side, or duck, was all he needed to defeat the Big Bad Slayer.

Why was I even doing this again? I reached out, punching far too slowly, he grabbed my arm and tossed me over, landing with a crunch on my shoulder.

_Get up._ I told myself. _Get up. You definitely did _not_ hear a crack in your shoulder_.

"Yeah, a dislocated shoulder's a real paralyzing factor, ain't it?" Spike began to circle me. "Now that I've got your attention, you should know that, well, frankly, you suck. I've known cocker spaniels who throw better left-hooks better than you do."

Flipping him the bird would do very little right now but it might give me some small fraction of pleasure.

"And honestly, I think Buffy's wasting her time with this one. A thousand years— though I might have— is not worth spending a chimpanzee to say 'Mama'. But then again that task might be easier."

Spike stopped his pacing. He stared on ahead as though focusing on something not in the room. "But I'll do it. Because she . . . needs more soldiers and sadly, this is the best of the lot for now."

God, what I wouldn't give to know what happened between these—

"Now this can hurt a lot, or just a little," Spike said suddenly and grabbed my wrist. I didn't know what was happening until he had my arm above my head.

"Wait, Spike—"

He jerked.

SNAP

He let my arm fall down by my side and I turned away, tears slicing the ridges of my eyes. But if I cried now, I couldn't look at myself without wanting to barf. I coughed and the tears slipped away. The pain, now at a low agony, was making my stomach hurt. I wished I had eaten something, or _anything_ in the past two days.

"So obviously, you know my name." He said this with a small grin of smug pride. "I think I missed yours when I didn't care to listen."

"Bit late for salutations, don't you think?" I snarled from the floor. He had begun to pace around the room, not fast or quick, as if he was irritated. Spike walked just to burn off energy. But then as he spoke again, it was sharper, more to the point.

"What's your name, kid?"

"First of all, its not 'kid'. Or any of those other stupid British terms so you can just stop there." I heaved myself onto my feet, twisting my arm slightly and wondering if instead of relocating it, Spike had actually broken something. But the pain wasn't making me sick anymore, now infrequent like waves. "My name is Reid. Reid Robinson."

I couldn't see his face, for his circling put him behind me, but out the corner of my eye, I swore he raised his thin eyebrow in disbelief. Right, like he was one to point fingers.

"Can you still fight?" Spike asked tonelessly and cornered around me again, nodding towards my shoulder. He wasn't worried about the pain; he just needed to know if class would be cut short today. I nodded.

"Great. So basics."

He stepped a few feet ahead of me, much like he had before but much of the malice was gone. Spike was just simply bored now.

"Punch out again, but don't move afterwards. And punch like how you'd really take down some baddy."

I rolled my eyes, sighing, embarrassment kept in my throat. My fist stopped inches from his face. He didn't blink. Spike then moved around my side, looking at what I could only guessed to be my positioning. Spike nudged my back foot forward, my weight shifted and suddenly I felt more balanced. He did the same with my front right foot, and I knew this was what it meant to be grounded. He pushed my left elbow in more, bringing it up so it was firm against my body.

"The less flailing you do, the less things they can grab." He muttered and continued to circle, looking for more areas to critic. "Now pull back to a stand." And I did. "Now punch out." I did, trying to remember the exact positions I had before.

"No." He nudged my foot, straightened my hips and shoulders. "Again."

I punched. Again he moved certain things, never happy. Again, I stood then punched out, really trying and each time failing utterly. After what seemed to be hours of this, Spike finally sighed.

"Switch. Left arm now."

I didn't know if I had finally gotten it right or he just couldn't take the screw-ups again and again. But from the way he kept sighing and rolling his eyes, it was most likely the latter.

* * *

The sunlight that spilled in from under the closed blinds said it was late afternoon, if not just about sunset. By this time, my shoulders were sore and not from the previous dislocation of one. I don't know if I was better or worse by the end of it.

"Come on now, can't you tell your off-balance?" Spike sighed as he jerked my arm down slightly.

"I don't think I'm off balance," I grumbled. Spike walked around to face me, his eyebrows raised in mock-surprise.

"Oh, is that right?" His mouth twisted into a snarl as he grabbed my wrist, yanked me forward and drove a rough palm into my chest. My legs immediately fell out from under me and I rolled onto the floor.

"I think we are forgetting lesson the first," Spike said and crouched down before me again. "You have no bloody clue what the sodden' hell you're doing and I do. So it'd do you wise to shut up."

The plastic mat crunched under my fists. I willed every ounce of hate and fury to drive right into my eyes, hoping sparks would literally fly from my face. My mouth turned down into a hideous scowl. His eyes narrowed in front of me as though he challenged me to do anything about my situation. Several long moments passed and neither one of us changed our loathed expression.

"Try something," he began. "I'd love to see."

"Fuck you."

Spike snickered. "That's what I thought. They're really letting in anybody these days." He shook his head and stood. "Now, get out. It's embarrassing."

I don't think I've ever slammed a door harder.

* * *

Ericka wasn't in the room by the time I returned later that night. My wanderings had dumped me out around Housing Section B and some girl, who obviously hadn't seen me before, gave me directions to how to get back to Section D, and I was back in my room around nine.

Water was rushing from the metal tap in a hot blast of steam and a roar into the long white bathtub. Soft cotton shorts and a huge black shirt lay over the white sink and a recently used toothbrush sat wet in its holder. I was positioned on top of the closed toilet seat, trying very hard to remove my boots without causing too much agony. The left shoe sat beside the tub, tossed away in gladness, but the right one was being particularly difficult.

My foot twitched as I eased the leather over my heel. The movement shot a spark of pain up my ankle and I grimaced. Finally I stripped away the boot and rolled my foot around to get blood flowing properly again. I rested my head in my hands, a dull thrumming in my head a constant reminder. Frankly I didn't remember Spike beating me this much. Maybe the whole car crash had something to do with this.

Wiping my nose, I slid onto my feet and pulled off the jacket, my shoulder twisting painfully, then I pulled off my shirt. A sharp yellow and purple bruise in the dead center of my chest in the shape of an open-hand was the most definitive mark. My shoulder was slightly swollen and dotted green in various areas. The other one bore marks of injury as well, but they were faded mostly. That was mostly likely the car crash. The rest were because of my new favorite Mr. Keating, save for the poetry and the Robin William's flavored hilarity.

Cloth scrapped against my skin as I unhooked my bra and pulled out of my jeans and undergarments. The steam from the bath clogged the room but I took at as a white escape. The water scalded my toes but then after a daring plunge, I slipped all the way into the bathtub. Of course it was fire hot but then, my body became numb and the water was a dry sting. I soaked, the water burning my flesh but easing my bruises into a nonexistent state. The pounding in my head drew up in intensity and so I dove below the water, where there was nothing to be heard but the delicate _drum drum_ of my heartbeat.

As a little girl, I always found water to be a very odd thing. Beneath it, you looked like a completely different person but to you, the outside world was the same. It could kill you but you needed it to live. Too much and you would die, too little and you would die still.

A gurgle of air bubbled up to the top as I breathed out and broke the surface.

I quickly bathed and climbed out, the dirty water now rushing down the hole at the bottom of the tub. A quick few but violent brush strokes tackled my wild red hair and after sliding on my clothes, which surprisingly didn't hurt as bad as before, I left the bathroom. Ericka was lying on her bed reading a book.

"God, took you long enough," she moaned the second I entered the room. She snapped the book shut and grabbed her clothes.

"Sorry if I inconvenienced you with trying to doctor up my bruises and possibly a broken rib." I said low enough to where she would hear me but it would seem like I was trying to sneak something by her.

"Yeah . . ." She froze at the door. "What?"

"Spike's my new play pal. Buffy thinks it's not fair for me to jump in with the rest of you guys so Spike's my private 'tutor' now." I saw a haphazardly made sandwich sitting on a napkin on my bed. I didn't even try to look guilty as I ripped into it.

"What does that mean?"

"Like hell if I know." I muttered through bites.

"But it's Spike, I mean, THE Spike." She turned away from the bathroom, her brow furrowed in thought.

"He has a very kinky name." I rolled my eyes. "Whooptie freakin' do."

"He's killed two Slayers, you know?"

The sandwich tasted like ash in my mouth. "Of course."

"Yeah, so back in the Boxer rebellion in China and one in the seventies I think, New York."

"Ah, such good memories of home," I said dryly and popped the last bit of sandwich in my mouth.

"No, you don't understand," Ericka said, finally looking at me in the face. "Spike is deadly. Like really deadly and you don't want to go pissing him off."

"There are two types of deadly?" I mocked her. She frowned. "Oh, give it a rest. Spike's on strict orders for there to be no bashing of heads in or draining of blood. I come down to Buffy's private training room everyday after lessons and we battle. I might become quite the Karate Kid."

"It's just not that simple," Ericka said, almost pleading. "Don't overestimate these complicated things—"

"God, why does everybody tell me that?" I leapt off the bed. "Spike, vampire. Me, Slayer. I don't slay him and he keeps his fangs to himself! That's it!"

"It's really not," Ericka said. "He can get inside your mind."

Words suddenly leapt into my throat, searing my cheeks and burning my teeth. "Kind of like how you want Willow to get inside your pants?"

Ericka's mouth dropped as her eyes were suddenly emblazoned with hate.

Damn it, I really should have savored that sandwich. It was probably the last thing she'd bring me for a while . . . or, you know, ever.

"Get out." She hissed.

"Gladly, you whiney little bitch," I snarled. I dove into my bag and began shuffling things around.

"Get out!" Ericka barked. She was standing now, her finger pointing to the door and her chest heaving with rage.

"Just one damn second," I muttered.

"No, not one second! Get out!" She strode over my side of the bed and just as her hands clapped onto my back, my hands grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a small box of matches. She yanked me to my feet and pushed me out the door.

"GET OUT!" Ericka roared and slammed the door in my face.

"I really hope you're happy, you pathetic excuse for space!" I bellowed and pounded on the door. "The sooner you get over yourself and your big dumb secret, the better we'll all be off! Stop moping around and grow a pair!"

I stood, heaving in the hallway for a minute before I whipped around to hiss at onlookers. They scampered off and I strode away.

This time I swear I would walk until my feet bled.

* * *

I tried finding those spiraling staircases again, but what I actually got was a bunch of scrambling around closed hallways, cursing and the occasion kicking of doors in frustration. Every now and again a window would catch my eye, and I would pause, taking a moment to look at the world at night.

It was cold outside; I could feel it, though perfectly warm inside. Moonlight snaked along miles of grass and the dying trees. Off in the distance I caught a glimpse of Willow's tent. Guilt poked at my ribs before, with an internal scowl, I moved on, searching desperately for something that wasn't to be found.

Now, up this flight of stairs I found a single door upon a small landing. Most doors I had tried had been firmly locked but for the interest of simply doing something, I reached up and kicked the door. It flew back, swinging back so fast around the other side of the wall, there was a crack and up at the top of the door; the wood had been dislocated from the hinge. Grinning for no reason at all, I strode through and a sharp wind electrified my senses. The hair on my arms tingled and the back of my neck shivered. I walked out onto a stone wall.

It was medieval in structure, with low hunches of stone surrounding the walkway. It circled around, diving off onto another part of the house. Below in the grass, there doors and weapons lying on the ground. The place seemed to fit the description of a fighting area. About a fourth of the way around I found a spot and sat down. Striking the match on the stone, it burned bright, then simmered, and the flame found my cigarette.

Ericka was being stupid. I didn't need to worry about Spike. He was a vampire. So what? I let out a small humorless chuckle as smoke unfurled in front of me. Like she cared. She was just being a bitch.

And then there was the vampire. Not one of my finer exists.

Vampires. Sure. I can totally kick their asses. Because apparently, they exist. Demons too. The things that go bump in the night; they were all real. And I, by my birthright, was meant to hunt them down. I, an orphan from New York, am going to save humanity. It won't come to that. It can't. Maybe Buffy's got enough buff to save us all. Because, I, of all people, definitely can't save anyone.

My head rolled back against the stone.

"What the fuck are you doing, Reid?" I muttered. Just go home. You can't do this.

Above me there were stars littering the sky.

How could something so big and furious look so small? As I stared, something across the circling wall caught my eye. It moved fast and I glanced over. A shadow shifted and there was a spark of light that was bright and then gone in an instant. Gray shadows lifted away from this object and I realized it was smoking.

Huh, so another Slayer likes the cold comfort as well?

Suddenly the figure moved and something thin shot into the air above them and it took me a moment to realize, they were waving. Frowning slightly that someone intruding on my moments alone, I raised my hand as well.

"Lonely putz," I muttered and took in a deep breath. That was the last time I looked over there for the night, afraid of inviting company. But the figure never moved again, never admitting I was there.


	9. Chapter 9: Beginnings

**Chapter 9: Beginnings**

* * *

I returned to my room was around two. The door gave way easily and I stumbled in, shocked. Frankly I was fully expecting her to lock the door and tonight would be an uncomfortable one spent out in the hallway. But then my shock faded as I stared at her empty bed. A note laid on the sheets and through the paper I could tell only a short note was scribbled there, but not even bothering with it, I snatched the paper up, crumpled it and chucked it in the direction of the trash bin, not looking to see whether the wad of paper made it home or not.

My feet and fingers were numb from the cold outside and for the first time since arrival, I despised the cold sheets and my insides burned for another smoke. But I was so damn tired. So, telling my insides to shut up, I yanked the covers over my head and fell into a fitful sleep, true sleep lasting about five seconds before the horrible nightmares returned.

* * *

The slam of a door woke me the next morning and I realized Ericka hadn't woken me up in time for classes. Swearing heavily I bolted from the bed and yanked on clothes. The door flew open at the twist of my hand and I took off like a bullet down the hallway. Normally I probably wouldn't have been late, barely making the mark . . . if I hadn't ripped open doors that led to a pantry, a closet, two empty classrooms and a small dorm room.

"Damn it," I hissed and finally found another door that looked familiar. I yanked the handle away and found Tremaine walking across the floor. His blue-grey eyes swiveled up to me in a waiting glare.

"Sorry," I muttered, gasping low breath. "Over slept."

My eyes dashed down to the front where I spotted the blonde hair swept back in waves. She and Yuri were adamantly ignoring me.

"Well, since you've overcome the belief that the world will wait for you," Tremaine said pointedly. "Please take a seat and do not waste another moment in my class."

Smarmy jerk. Where did he get off acting like he was God's gift? Oh right, stinkin' teacher _and_ a Watcher. And stupidly British. With a deeper scowl that wasn't aimed completely at Tremaine, I sunk into a nearby chair.

"Now that past that interruption, lets begin something that is essential to your Slayer training."

If anyone in the room was still thinking about the new girl's tardiness, that train of thought was immediately gone. Everyone sat up straighter and listened intently. Tremaine noticed this sudden abrupt attention in a wide sweep of his eyes, which flickered with the ghost of a smirk for a fraction of a second.

"As most of you might know, there is a large evil coming after you new Slayers."

And if they didn't, they certainly did now.

"Buffy, the Slayer who did what no one else dared to even dream about, believes it is important for me as a Watcher to show you the origin of your power. She believes if you understand it, you can wield it properly."

Tremaine then moved to a light switch, lowering the glare in the room to a hazy glow.

"At the very beginning, there was only one Slayer and her Watcher, her guide. As a descendent of the men who gave the first Slayer her power, he used the knowledge of his ancestors to train her in combat, in magical items and to steer her through her dreams of Slayers past."

He then put a small box onto the center of his desk, opened it and brought out a circular metal object, placing that on his desk as well. At the very center of the device, a black candle sat in the dark until Tremaine flicked it to life from the flame of a match. Half of his gray face was burning in shadow, his eyes swimming in unreadable darkness.

"For, into each generation a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world, a Chosen One. One born with the strength and skill to fight vampires. To stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers."

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Somewhere, certainly not in the classroom, a tribal drumbeat was heard and the metal object on Tremaine's desk began to spin.

"First, there was nothing but the Earth." A voice said and there was a moment before I realized it was Tremaine speaking. His voice was low and heavy, like he was asleep. With his back to the class, he bent down and picked up something else from the box, he placed it onto the spinning device.

"Then for thousands and thousands of years, the demons ruled, unending and unyielding."

A low screech tore across the room. The first row shivered. In the low light of the candle, the metal representation of the demons were thrown up onto the wall, their shadows dancing like imps. With every turn of the device, the shadows became more than just blackness in light; they were gruesome and dark and evil. _They are shadows, a stupid kid's game_, I said to myself but soon, I couldn't ignore the hisses and the slithers of demons that were frightfully close. The demons were real.

"Then, out of the ashes and dust left in the wake of the demons, Man was born."

The sound of a man shouting out echoed in the dark. Tremaine added a small stick-figure-like piece to the device and it spun faster. The shadows on the wall moved, though not because of the spinning device. The picture demons and picture man fought together on the wall, the ancient epic battle reduced to fraction of what it really was, the shadows barely doing them justice.

"Man chose a single girl and named her as their protector," Tremaine added a metal illustration of a thin girl, howling out silently, to the mix and immediately the shadows came to life. Man called to this girl and she came, standing in front of him and the blend of furious demons.

"And they fused her with what was in the beginning, the demons. Man took this girl and chained her to this fresh earth and gave her the power of the demons surrounding their world." Tremaine's voice was shaking now as he added the last piece, a metal image of a chain. A light exploded from the center and the device spun faster until it was a blur, while the pictures on the wall shuffled and stirred. Man had thrown the chain upon the girl, like a net and she thrashed and twisted beneath its coils as the demons clicked and jittered. The chain and the girl glowed and suddenly the chain broke away, the girl strong and powerful. Man stepped away as the girl, the one girl, the sole protector of humanity, leapt at the demons.

A ghostly wail came from the shadow pictures as the girl and the demons became a swirling mass of shadow and black. The heap crumpled to the ground, then slowly, the girl rose up from the bulk, victorious.

"As time passed, the majority of the demons left this dimension but some stayed. And others spilt their blood with the humans, making half-breeds like vampires and werewolves. Yet, all feared a single girl. A woman who carried their power within her veins, that word made their blood run cold. Slayer. As a mortal, she died however, but the power was passed on to another girl, and then another."

The shadows on the wall suddenly blended together. The demons and the girl and Man all piled as one black mass, spinning and swirling, until . . .

The metal device exploded and the sound of metal being ripped apart torn across the room, parts flying everywhere. A buzz crossed near my ear and I heard a sharp thud as a metal piece embedded its self into the wood behind me. But still, I didn't turn away from Tremaine. The room was silent and not a single light glowed in the black. All though completely cloaked in darkness, his voice range out like a bell, cold and crisp and right.

"Slayers are always alone, no matter who they surround themselves with or, now, how many of you there are. There will come a day when you will face a demon completely abandoned by everyone you've ever known. It will be a long battle and it will be a hard one. Pain walks hand in hand with a Slayer and Death is always at your heels. You may want to give up, but you can't, especially when it's hard. But in the end, when it comes down to that last minute between you and the demon, you will win, because it's all you have left."

The lights came up and Tremaine was standing in the middle of the classroom. His arms were crossed and with our adjusting eyes, he looked immobile, lifeless, the marrow of life sucked dry. His eyes then moved up from the floor and the spell was broken.

"One girl, one life, was irrevocably changed to make you sit here today. Your power comes from something dark and deadly, you must never forget that, but as humans, you can take that power and make it into something incredible."

Those endless eyes glanced up and took in every single scared face across from him, daring us to challenge our sacred duty. "Only question remaining is . . . will you? Class dismissed."

About a full minute passed before anyone moved and even afterwards, they moved with shaky movements, uncontrolled jitters.

"Oh and if a piece landed near you, please bring it up here."

Finally I stirred awake from my trance and grabbed the piece of metal behind me. It was the representation of the girl, the first Slayer. The girl they enslaved to be their protector. She didn't want this life; it was forced upon her by spineless men. I looked up and I realized I was the last one in the room. Tremaine was packing up the rest of the device.

"Here, last piece," I said gruffly and handed the piece back to him. His light eyes flickered as the object exchanged our hands.

"Yes," Tremaine said. "Last piece of the puzzle, isn't it?"

"I guess." I replied with a slight scowl. His eyes were running over me in a way I certainly didn't appreciate.

Something was stirring in my brain, like little kid grabbing at a too high light switch.

"Um, Watcher Tremaine, Professor Tremaine?"

"Tremaine is fine." The older man replied. He was now reassembling the main circular piece.

"When I was little, I was diagnosed with night terrors and recently, they've come back," I began slowly. "I used to think they were just really horrible dreams but now, here, in this place, I'm not really sure."

I was trying very carefully to not sound completely nuts, and the small smile that cracked his dry lips gave me a small sip of hope.

"No, Reid, you are not insane." Tremaine said and looked at me with thick, sallow, knowing eyes. Ok, maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should have just left the damn piece on the table and high-tailed it out of here, leaving Crazy Mind-Reader Man to himself.

"Those are not night-terrors," he continued. "They are dreams of Slayers past. They can show you how these Slayers died or their triumphs, all of this real for you and certainly grounds for being terrified."

"I am not scared—," I said firmly but the Watcher plowed on as if I had not said anything.

"They can be used as great gifts. Wonderful assets in a time of need, to know how your fellow Slayers solved their problems. Cherish them and never forget their meaning. While disturbing and horrible, these women died for a cause. They died so that we may live."

Tremaine looked at me with his wide eyes again and searched for my approval. I nodded, as if that was a sign of understanding. He took it that way and closed his briefcase. I was glad to go.

"Have you been looking over that packet I gave you?" He asked quietly as I turned away.

"Um, yeah, interesting stuff. Vampires, definitely weird."

"Yes, vampires. What bizarre creatures." Tremaine said, his eyes suddenly a world away. "So close to being humans and yet so unlike us. They have the body of a man, yet the soul of pure blackness."

Ok, so I guess ALL the pieces weren't put back together the way they were supposed to. "Yeah, totally," I said. "I'm kind of late for my next class, so . . ."

"Oh, right," Tremaine nodded. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Thanks for this."

He twiddled the piece of the Slayer in his hands before putting it back in the box. I shrugged and headed backwards, when again, he called me back.

"Oh, Reid!"

"What?" I turned. Tremaine was holding out a package for me. My brow dipping, I took it from him.

"It's from Buffy," he said. "Said it was for your next class. Extra class, I think was her exact words."

I shook the box. It didn't sound like a pack of C4 I could explode in case the peroxide vampire tried to eat me. I shrugged and nodded thanks to Tremaine, who only nodded back in response.

Out in the hallway I ripped open the package and immediately saw a piece of paper at the top. In swirly handwriting, it read:

_Reid-_

_Figured you didn't have any of these, since we kind of picked you up off the streets. Or a field. Sorry and hope they fit._

_ Buffy_

I scowled at the letter. Hope what fits? I lifted back a sheet of tissue paper and my mouth dropped. The box fell to the floor in surprise.

* * *

"I'm not wearing them."

"It's only clothing. Not a death sentence."

"Fine, I wear that and you can wear a fuzzy tutu. Might match your hair."

"These will help you move better, bend easier." Spike said and thrust the box back into my arms. "We're trying out new things today and from that pitiful show last week, you're going to need all the bloody help you can get."

"This won't help me at all!" I cried. "Nothing with the word 'Juicy' written across the ass ever helps anyone!"

I chucked the box to the ground and the Juicy Couture pants, hot pink tank top and running shoes bounced out of the box.

"This is stupid and ridiculous." I scowled at the clothes with crossed arms. "Buffy's just being a bitch."

Spike glanced at me before throwing the clothes back into the box. His glance clearly said, "Well you deserve it."

I wanted to kick him again but by the way he was acting now, it wouldn't have been that big a deal. He acted as if I never threatened his manhood and all that remained was my disgraceful attempt at being a Slayer.

"Look, I'm sure if you just go to her—,"

"And tell her I've figured out her stupid plot to embarrass me to death?" I glared. "Pass on that one, thanks."

His already angled cheekbones drew in further as Spike glared at me with a sharp sigh, sticking the clothes in front of my face. "Just wear the sodding clothes! I'll talk to Buffy myself and ask for a new set. What do you want those to those to say? 'I eat little children for breakfast so stay the hell away!'"

"If it got the message across, then yeah!" I snarled and snatched the clothes out of my line of sight so I could glare perfectly at him. "What about your tutu? I think it should say 'Look at me. I'm a bloody stupid vampire with a bloody stupid soul. I'm depressed and a bad ass so kiss my sodden arse!"

"If it got the point across then, yeah!" Spike roared back. "And I do not talk like that!'

"Yes you do!"

"NO. I don't!"

"Yes. You. DO!"

"No I bloody DON'T!"

My face, full of fury, suddenly broke and changed into a triumphant smirk. Spike's lip curled back and his chest heaved in anger. Then it all fell through and he just scowled.

"Put on the sodding clothes, you stupid bint," he muttered before spinning on his heel and storming out the door.

_Fine, but just this one time. _I smirked to myself as I took off my jacket and shirt, slipping the pink thing on then. I continued to change, grinning wildly all the time.

Fifteen minutes a much calmer Spike returned and he reeked of smoke, cigarette smoke.

"You know that'll kill you?" I stood up from my spot in the corner.

"Been smoking since before you were a sparkle in your mummy's eye, n' I'm still here, ain't I?" He growled as he stepped onto the mat. "But lung cancer would be fun."

I raised my eyebrow as I followed him onto the mat. My eyes traveled from his swirling blue eyes down to the thing in his hands. It was a wooden quarterstaff, painted green and red in equally distant areas.

"So," Spike said, spinning the staff masterfully in his hands. "We're going to work on aim and precision with this. I'm going to hold the staff over my body and you will have to hit it, only if it's green. If it's red you have to pause. I will also hit you with it. If a green end comes at you, you have to block it. If a red, then you dodge. Got it?"

This is stupid.

I nodded.

The staff flipped and there was a bright green spot over his left shoulder. I dove in with a jab of my fist and immediately was rewarded with a biting pain in my knuckles.

"You don't have to kill the bad wood," Spike mocked. "Just touch it."

I didn't even look at him as the staff spun again, but my jaw was clenched firmly in determination. A green spot flew up around his knee. I kicked there. A green spot appeared over his stomach. I punched. Green was near his side. I kneed his side. Then green on his upper chest. Then green on his stomach again—

Green changed to red but my knuckles still graced the wood and the bottom of the staff flipped up red and smacked me across the back. I grimaced, my back tingling with pain.

"Again."

We shuffled on the mat, turning and cornering. Green appeared near his shoulder and I kicked high. Then down again at his knee. Then red but I couldn't stop. The staff slapped my thigh, smarting and stinging.

"Come on, focus. This isn't all aggression. It's precision. Concentrate."

"Shut up and let me." I hissed as I swung for a flash of green. I dove for another and kicked a red. A red angry welt appeared on my other thigh. I grimaced again.

This went on for several hours, although the amount of red ridges over my body seemed to have decreased from the first part of the practice. Maybe I was being hopeful.

I leaned down on my knees, sweat dripping from the sides of my head, my breath coming in ragged pants. Spike walked in circles around me, spinning the staff as he went.

"You need speed, lots more speed. I think the power might be there— well, I hope the power's there or else the world will be a very dark place filled with useless, bombed Slayers."

I glared at him up through a run of sweat.

"And your style," he continued. "It's a style, but . . . well, it's a sad style and obviously not very affective."

The wooden end of the staff flicked under my chin, bringing my burning eyes into his face.

"Where's that fire that comes with a Slayer?" Spike asked, his angled head turning to the side. "Gotta be in there somewhere."

"Yah it is." I snarled and shoved the staff away, then I stood up. "Keep treating me like scum on your fucking shoe and you'll see it."

He smiled, the expression borderline a grimace. "Lucky for you, the feeling's oh-so-mutual. But, not to worry, these fuzzy feelings won't keep either of us from killing the other. Right?"

I scowled at him and Spike simply returned to spinning his staff. "So, tomorrow, I'm seeing some sort of obstacle course."

Again, a glare was launched in his direction. Come to think of it, that's kind of the only way I looked at Spike.

"Clear up here and go off to your girlie-mates and complain about the Big Bad. Be back here tomorrow, happy and ready for a beating." Spike waved me off and I grabbed my clothes.

"I want a new set of clothes," I said firmly before I left. Spike shrugged, whether he would do it or not, unclear. Anger whipped against all the red welts on my skin. "And just so you know, there's nothing to complain about."

And I slammed the door after me.

* * *

It was about midnight before my growling stomach made me stand up from my spot on the outside stone wall, burn out my cigarette and travel down to the main foyer. The kitchen door was thankfully unlocked and a dark cafeteria-like room waited in moonlight. Tables were pushed up against the walls and plastic chairs were stacked along the window. Out of the dark glass, the back lawn was seen and Willow's smoking tent was barely visible. Over to my right a large refrigerator was seen through a large square hole in the wall. I crawled through and glared into the light from the open refrigerator. Several large pizza boxes sat in stacks while there were other things like cheese and meat and pineapple and something brown and furry, but all I saw was the pizza. It was cold, but that was the best kind. I found sausage and onion and with a sigh of content, I started to chow down on a large piece. While chewing and smacking, I crawled back onto the ledge of the square hole. The grin plastered to my face slowly melted away as I looked at the empty, ghost-like cafeteria.

Was this my life now? Getting my ass kicked by a constantly pissed off vampire and eating cold pizza without another soul insight? This shouldn't be bugging me; I had gone through months of lonely nights in Manhattan, but even then, I knew something would always be there. But now . . . I had never really used to the word 'abandoned' because it make me think of some hot desert with no water and dead bones cracking under your feet as you walked, yet as I sat alone in a building filled with people, the word passed through my mind. I accepted it momentarily before roughly shoving it out on its way; fat lot of good it would do to feel sorry for myself now.

A full pizza gone, I chunked the box into the nearest trashcan and headed back to my room.

* * *

True to his word— however worthless that may be— Spike had set up an obstacle course the next day. Yet, surprisingly, he had also brought me a new set of clothes. These had a navy blue top, grey loose sweatpants and white nikes. See how much good we can do if you all just listen to me?

The three stations consisted of kicking a dummy in five critical places, dodging tennis balls thrown at me by a low powered shooter, and then walking across the wooden bar across the side of the room . . . on my hands.

"I know you have the balance of a dohdoh bird, but just do it." Spike said after I adamantly shook my head. "Trust your instincts and your gifts as a Slayer. They may surprise you."

"Says the man who highly doubts any abilities I've ever had."

"Well, yeah." Spike shrugged. I glared at him but he threw it off with a nod of his head to the bar. "No more stalling. Get up there."

Frowning at the bar more than the vampire, my sweaty hands grabbed onto the wooden bar and pushed down. My feet went up and my arms started to shake.

"Stop doing it slow," Spike said behind me. "Just throw your weight up there. And spread out your hands so you're more balanced."

"Spike," I hissed, as I spread my hands farther apart as my feet went over my head. "Shut up."

And then I was there. All the blood was rushing to my head as my legs were bent above me. A drop of sweat fell down from my forehead and splattered on the ground.

He was silent. I didn't care; he was going to ruin my moment of feeling like a ninja. "Now walk to the other side."

"What?" My head whipped down. He looked kinda funny upside down: all black then just suddenly BLONDE. "I can barely hold my balance like this, much less hold my balance and move."

"The whole rule thing kind of went out the window with you, din' it?"

"Goodie, you're learning."

Spike rolled his eyes. "God, I never remember any of the potentials ever being this bitchy."

"Lucky for you, or you might have snapped sooner."

"Just walk."

Lowering my head back to the bar, I reached forward with my left hand. I didn't fall. Urged on by my brief success, I brought my other hand forward—

—slipped and twirled to the ground. My butt smarted.

"Least you made one hand," Spike smirked, standing with his arms crossed.

"Shut up." I pulled myself onto my feet and walked over to the next station.

"Oh, no," Spike said. "Cartwheel."

"What?"

"The idea, see, is from you to get from point A on the bar to point B on the other side, from there you land and cartwheel to the next spot."

"What the hell is that suppose to do for me?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, it was originally suppose to be a back hand spring, but I can see now that's just wishful thinking."

I scowled and did a sloppy cartwheel. He was glaring at me with dissatisfaction as I came up to stand.

"Wishful thinking and all . . ." I grinned, then turned to kick the dummy.

Sometime later, he let me go and I left. The next morning I got up before Ericka had and left. Willow taught us how to recognize a quarts crystal from a greshier, which is a small hard plant that resembles a stone. And that afternoon Spike made me do the obstacle course again. I was finding unpleasant bruises in the shapes of a tennis balls all over my body for hours.

The day following Tremaine gave me a packet on Zapargoth demons, which apparently can only be killed by drowning and Spike taught me how to roll properly. That ended in a possibly sprained wrist.

And then the day after that, Willow showed us how to use certain sand-like leaves to heal small injuries, which would have been nice when Spike decided it was the day for a "sad" attempt at hand to hand combat.

The "yay" to my week ended with a brief training session about stakes. Not the food kind, which I was desperately craving, but a short wooden stick-type thing. Apparently, vampires can only be killed that way, or by beheading, or sunlight, but as a Slayer this is the most effective way.

"Stab and go on," Spike said as he showed me exactly where the heart is on a dummy and stabbed it violently with the stake. I took the wooden thing and spun it a little, before giving Spike a threatening glare. He didn't even flinch.

The next day Tremaine made me tell the class why a Pathrol demon can read minds. I didn't know. Spike tried to make me break a cinder block. It finally shattered when I threw it at the wall, aiming for his head but he ducked. Rat bastard.

The days were blurring together. I knew it. Days were becoming weeks without any of my control over them. True winter had clamped down on the Slayer institute and one day I found a large black parka on my bed with a note saying, "You're going to need it".

The leaves on the trees had finally crunched away into oblivion, leaving bare, naked branches and cold dead grass. Almost always now the sky looked dark and damp and thick, an unbreakable shell around the world. Then some morning, I awoke to find the first snow of the winter season had littered the outside grounds. Some girls were already outside playing around in the white wonder, making snow angels or snowball fighting, all laughing and giggling until a few went inside for some delicious hot chocolate waiting somewhere. The only time my feet hit the snow was late night, when mostly everyone was asleep and I went out onto the stone wall and smoked.

You'd think after a weeks of the nonstop torture chamber that was training with Spike, I'd have broken into a million pieces. Oddly, no. Slayer constitution I suppose, but even before I found out what I was, I always healed fast. I'd always liked to believe that I had a good strong punch and moved quickly, even without the Slayer inside. So, when it all came down to who's who, was it my fault or the Slayer's fault that I simply couldn't grasp Slayer training?

After a while I think it became a favorite pastime of Spike's to point out the many mistakes in my form, my lack of power or skill. I think he stayed up at night thinking up just the right phrases with the equal amount of sarcasm and hurt to needle their way into my chest and implant themselves in my brain so they'd spin around in my mind for days afterwards. Either that, or he was a smug, arrogant British pig. Either one was very plausible. It was probably both. Never once did he mention improvement so for all I knew, I very well might have been getting worse, the bruises proving nothing.

I walked alone to and from classes. I ate alone. I slept alone. My only "human" contact was with the undead vampire as he kicked me to the ground, either with his words or very, very literally. I brought this upon myself I suppose, just like I had in Manhattan and there was no way to change it, even if I did want to. My life had become one great blur, every day and every night ending the exact same way.

It was not until a dark Sunday night, when a great winter storm was brewing outside, with winds sharp and icy and whirling gusts of jagged slices of snow, did something in my life change.

* * *

I slept restlessly, the cotton sheets and comforter twisting beneath me. Outside the winds howled and gnarled tree branches scraped at the brick walls. Sweat poured from my forehead, drenching my clothes and the bed. My nails grated against my skin, bringing fine wells of blood to the surface and yet, the most of my turmoil came from my dreams.

My mother's victor had just dropped her body, wiped his mouth clean of her blood and walked down the street. I lay in the alley, eleven and struck with horror and anger, tears pouring down my face. But the dream didn't end there. Suddenly furious in a way I had never been before, I stood up and wiped the tears from my face. Then, I tore down the alleyway, following the murder. I turned the corner and ended up—

—on a subway train. The car was completely empty except for two people, but they were fighting. One was a tall black woman, with a short afro and a smooth, long, black leather duster. The man she was fighting was a fairly accurate impersonation of Billy Idol.

He wore torn jeans, a pierced black sleeveless jacket, and had hair that stuck up about an inch into the air. Though a fairly well built young man, he moved fast and quick and struck the woman hard with his black boots. But neither his appearance nor fighting skills were the most deranged thing about him: the wannabe was pouring with life. Maybe it was the neon lights reflecting off his alabaster skin, but he seemed to glow, energy and excitement whipping around him in an invisible wind. He taunted the woman with it, he kicked the woman with it and when she threw him through a window, he screamed out into the black night with vivid animation. This man loved exactly what he was doing and that was stirring up violence.

And then, the woman grabbed one of his wrists and flung him sideways, switching their spots and for the first time, I got a decent glance of his face. My mouth fell open in surprise.

It was Spike, thick black eyeliner rubbed around his eyes and a look of unstoppable determination on his face. The pair hopped back and forth, daring the other one to strike first. This was a pause and Spike simply couldn't handle that. He whipped to the side and broke down a metal pole. He swung his new weapon victoriously and she dodged.

The woman kicked the metal pole away and came at the vampire again, striking him fully in the face, breaking the flow of swirling life as Spike fell to the ground. Wasting no time, the woman leapt and, as Spike twisted beneath her, she pinned down his arms across his chest and began to whirl his head around with furious punches. Through gritted teeth, he hissed something almost indiscernible and it was a moment before the sounds suddenly made sense in my head.

"Slayer," he growled and tried to wiggle away from the onslaught of punches.

So this was another memory, another Slayer vision that Tremaine had mentioned. With a violent twist in my stomach, I realized this Slayer, someone like me, was doomed. Ericka had said he killed two Slayers, and this girl must have been one of them. I gazed upon that dark beautiful face, alight with passion and power, and felt horribly sad: she looked only a couple of years older than myself and these were her last few moments on Earth, full-filling her sacred duty only to die some horrible death.

Suddenly the lights in the subway car flickered black yet through the gloom I could still see her fists making wild marks on Spike's white face. Then there was a soft gasp and the sound of a scuffle and when the lights came back on Spike was sitting atop the woman. At that, he paused, his horrid blue eyes standing out like the glow from a jack o' lantern as they stared down, his prey finally grasped between his hands. One lay gently by his side as the other held the woman by the throat. The Slayer barely struggled now, thrusting and moving only occasionally. Her large brown eyes were transfixed by Death staring her right in the face. Then, with the movement of a lover's gentle caress, Spike placed one hand on the back of the Slayer's head, the other below her jaw and twisted. A crack, louder than the rumbling car around us, shattered my ears and made me cringe, though I never looked away.

Spike sighed, the battle over far too soon, and slid up from his throne, his energy pulsating and gluttonous and smooth as black silk, as he stood and yanked the wire up near the ceiling. The train spluttered to a stop and Spike stumbled a bit, drunk on adrenaline. He then bent down and pulled the leather duster from the lifeless corpse that was once the protector of mankind. Fluffing the collar, he smirked and stood again. The doors whooshed open and Spike disappeared into the crowd filling onto the train, long gone before a woman saw the dead body and screamed. People swarmed around me and suddenly the grey business suits swirled into a streak of a single cloud and then I smelled smoke.

I turned and flames and screams filled the air. I was inside a burning building, Chinese or Japanese by the looks of the statues and tapestries. Not much could be seen passed the billowing puffs of smoke that poured from the open windows but down on the dirt streets, the city was coming down in ruins. People and animals were running as buildings crashed into burning heaps. Chaos was literally tangible and yet, the two other people in the room besides me didn't seem to notice the havoc around them.

One was a pretty Asian girl, her hair pulled back in a long black braid and wielding a short Samurai sword that glinted and struck like silver poison. The man she was fighting had on some cotton overalls over some short leather boots, but padded, different from the normal type of leather boots. They both wore clothes that I've only ever seen in textbooks. With an unhappy twinge in my gut, I realized this was another time, and another country, most likely another continent. And with another twinge, this must be the other Slayer. The other Slayer that Spike killed.

Which, as I watched the pair dance across the dirt floor, was very surprising. Spike moved slower, his punches less direct but filled with the same passion for violence as I had seen on the train. His hair also wasn't classified as a U.F.O; only a light bronze and pulled back in a knot at the base of his neck. Maybe he was like Sampson, and all of his power lay in the blinding neon hair, because this Slayer was making quick work of him, even slicing open part of his eyebrow with one sharp flick of her blade. And yet, he managed somehow to kick away that sword. They rolled and ended up near a window, her foot positioned strategically against his throat and an ancient-looking stake held high in her hands. Spike froze, looking Death in the eyes, and then there was an explosion outside, knocking them both to the ground. The Slayer rolled, leaned for the stake, her arm bent at an odd angle and—

— Spike appeared from behind her, snatched up her free arm, swung until he was directly behind her and sunk his fangs deep into her neck. She gasped as her life drained away and poured into him. The stake fell promptly to the ground as Spike jerked, tearing away at her flesh to bring more hot blood into his mouth. After one more victorious slurp, Spike yanked the dying girl away from him, making her conqueror the last thing she'd ever see. She muttered something, to which Spike growled, "Sorry, love, I don't speak Chinese."

Then the Slayer fell to the ground and Spike stared, blood oozing down the side of his mouth until he wiped it off with a sly twist of his finger. He moaned softly at the taste of Slayer blood before the fire rose up around me, swallowing me like a black hole, and churning and sifting, the sands of dreamland blew away on a harsh wind and I sat up in bed, gasping and wet. Though I was fully awake, a nasty thought whispered in through the crack between reality and sleep.

Did a vampire kill my mother?


	10. Chapter 10: Puzzle Pieces

**Chapter 10: Puzzle Pieces**

* * *

After a particularly boring class about mushrooms in Willow's tent (The Do's and Don'ts of tasting the Fuzzy Ones), I stood stretching on one of the blue mats in the training room. Spike stood on the opposite side of the room, smoking a cigarette while he waited for me to warm up. As always, he stared at something on the floor or the wall, as did I . . . usually. Today, I couldn't look away from the vampire.

Though Ericka had mentioned it weeks before, the reality of what he had done only now seemed to sink in. He had killed those girls without a moment's hesitation. He killed them with glee and vigor, the thrill of the hunt embedded with ecstasy. And these were Slayers. Powerful women that fought for the sake of the world and he snuffed out their life, their power . . . for fun. For sport. But what if he hadn't? What if that first Slayer had succeeded in her sacred duty and killed Spike. Would I be standing here now? He certainly wouldn't be and if he wasn't, if he hadn't won that battle, who would have claimed that Slayer? What would have claimed that Slayer? If Spike hadn't made one lucky move back in China, if someone didn't leave out the packet of matches that made that explosion, that caused the Slayer to loose her focus and leaving Spike the upper hand . . . where would I be? Should I be grateful for the murder of that girl, because generations later, some other girl gave me my destiny?

My eyes narrowed as I stared in seething hatred at the vampire idly smoking a cigarette.

No.

He was here. She died. It's not fair. I didn't want this life and neither did any of the other Slayers. Men forced this upon us and now another man, undead as he might be, is making more girls live out a torturous existence.

Finally, Spike threw down the cigarette, obviously uncomfortable under my fiery glare.

"What?" He snapped.

"I just hate the smell of smoke, burning," I said, my lip rising slightly as I spat out the words. "It's disgusting."

"Huh, that's funny coming from the lass who smells like she baths in it," He said with a jerk of his eyebrow.

I literally snarled. Spike smirked at me in disbelief.

"Sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the Iron Maiden today."

Something in my chest broke free and words bit my tongue before I could stop them. "Show me your vampire face."

His flow of aloof calm hitched for a second before streaming back. Spike shrugged at me before crossing his arms.

"This is my face, sweetheart. Take it or leave it."

"Don't play games." I hissed. "Not now. Show me your fangs."

He finally stared back at me through narrowed eyes. "You've had the dreams, right?"

"The ones where you murdered innocent girls for the sake of getting your rocks off? The ones where you buried your teeth into her neck and ripped open her skin and drank deep? Or maybe the one where you simply just cracked her neck in half and then literally stole the jacket off her back? I think—"

"Those girls weren't innocent!" Spike said harshly. "They were Slayers. I'm a vampire. It's written in the sodding codex that we fight to the death."

"Oh ok," I said, my voice rising to a new level as I began to pace. "Fine. Forget the not-innocent girls that were doing the right thing, and lets focus on the girls that were innocent. Can we talk about the ones in their white dresses that you painted red with blood? The ones that you called food and played with them for hours until you decided you were bored? _Can we talk about them_?"

"Slayer memories wouldn't have given you all that—"

"I DON'T NEED MEMORIES OF GIRLS YOU DID MURDER TO KNOW ABOUT ALL OF THEM!" I roared and in two large steps I was directly in front of him, my chest heaving in anger and my hands curled tightly. But the way he stared, his eyes as hard and cool and uncaring as ice, made my anger double, exploding its way into fury. Without much control, I reached up and punched him directly across the face. He stumbled, his head shaking. "SHOW ME YOUR VAMPIRE FACE!" I roared again.

He was still bent over as I screamed at him. "SHOW IT TO ME!"

I took a step, threatening to hit him again and he whipped around, his human face completely and utterly gone. In its place stood the face of a monster that had been plaguing my dreams for years. Its eyes were yellow and demonically glowing. Its forehead was scrunched and twisted, its eyebrows gone and broken. The way the skin bunched up, the eyes seemed to be endless and horrible, the only end at the very pits of Hell. And there, bending down from piercingly white teeth, hung two long fangs, glistening from spit.

A terrible noise was leaving its open mouth and immediately I was frozen with fear, unable to fight back or move. The monster moved and suddenly I was shoved up into a wall.

"This is what I am!" The creature roared in my face. Its breath stank. "I always have and always will be a vampire! What I did back then was bad, righting me a place in Hell. But I am different! Got a bloody soul and don't you even think about telling me that doesn't make any difference! _Because, it does_. You can be scared all you bloody like but be afraid of what I _was._ _Don't look at me that way now_!"

With one more harsh shove, Spike let me go and turned off to the other side of the mat, leaving me shaking and sweating.

All I would see and hear for weeks to come was that face, and that sound. It was like I was living one of my nightmares.

"So," Spike asked. His back was turned to me, though from the lack of a speech impediment, I knew his face was back to normal. "Was that the first time you've ever seen a demon? Well, what a demon really looks like?"

"No," I said absent-mindedly. "It wasn't."

Spike turned, a look of slight curiosity on his face. "Well, in any case, it certainly won't be your last. Buck up. We've got work to do."

_Push it off. Fight back. Don't think about it. This doesn't change anything._

"Right," I nodded and stepped back onto the mat.

_Buffy ordered— _

_He can't do it— _

_He can't hurt me—_

_Can't touch— _

There was the briefest of pauses as we glanced across at each other. He was trying to figure me out. I could feel his sharp eyes peeling away into my face, searching for a glimpse of knowledge, a kernel of truth. But the moment our eyes made contact, the wall was up and the scowl returned.

He began to pace around me.

"Ok, close your eyes."

"No." I said, my voice foreign even in my own mouth. "I . . . I'm not going to close my eyes around you." _Keep talking. Keep your mouth moving. There you go. Open and shut._

"It's a training exercise." His voice was monotone. Emotionless. "Fighting in the dark is a large step up from where you are."

He continued to circle me. With a nasty jolt of realization, I knew why Spike always did this. Though very low on his threat radar, I was still a Slayer and he was still a vampire. He still got those tinglies to kill me. I just assumed my murderous feelings were from the weeks of torturous training.

"Shut your eyes."

Suddenly, exhaustion hit me in a blast. _Stop fighting_. I looked up to find Spike staring at me. His dark eyes were edging me on. My lids fell closed.

"Today," Spike said from a completely different spot from which I left him with my eyes open. He also spoke in a low rumble. "You are going to activate your Slayer sense."

I wanted to listen to him, just so I could hear some sound from him; for as I stood in total darkness, his boots made no noise on the plastic mat.

"Take a few deep breaths."

Air blew into my nose, expanding my chest and making my head rise slightly. It then rolled out through my slightly open mouth and then it circled the process again.

"Right job. In through your nose. Out through your mouth."

By this time my head was very light and every nerve felt like it was pleasantly asleep.

"Now touch me."

That unpleasant request was almost enough to wake me up from my almost-sleep. I think my features crumpled from bliss because Spike quickly continued.

"Without actually touching me. Find me in the darkness."

_Could you be more cryptic?_

"Reach out and sense the vampire, your mortal enemy, and know how to kill it."

Can't you just be the annoying British pig that I really want to mash into bloody pulps?

"Listen. Listen hard and sense."

_Shut up, you weird little—_

My eyes flew open. Spike's mouth was moving but very slowly. He took a step, the movement lasting several minutes. I heard the crunch of his boot, the sound like a landslide of boulders. And yet, when I brought my hand in front of my face, it was a normal speed. I glanced over at Spike, whose features slowly changed to those of surprise. Grinning wildly, I leapt forward at normal speed and punched Spike directly in the face.

The second my hand touched his face, I knew something was wrong. As the awareness grew stronger and stronger and I heard sounds fifty feet away, something began to grow in Spike. It was dark and heavy and thick and like a steel cage, it could trap you forever. And yet you could fall right through the black. Inside of Spike was a swirling black mass and it was furious. With a visible shutter, I realized it was the same disgusting over-baring thing that had been following me in the sewers and then that night outside of the apartment complex. But instead of being made completely of it, the heaving bulk was contained. Was that the soul that controlled the churning darkness inside of him? I didn't like to think what would happen if that soul, like a glass bottle, suddenly shattered and he was once again, filled to the very brim with that slimy black.

Moments ticked by as he flew through the air and eventually crashed against a wall. My patience wearing down, the second he hit the floor, I bounded to him and grabbed him by the collar and hurled him over my shoulder. Yes, I picked up a full-grown man and—

"Uhhh."

I collapsed to the ground, the world of power suddenly gone. Spike was rolling to his feet.

"And that's why we don't use our Slayer sense for too long." He said as he walked over to where I lay on all fours. "Makes perky little girls very weak and that is never a good thing in a fight."

A pounding headache began wreaking mayhem on the inside of my skull. I put a hand over my face to block out the unbearable light. "So then how is it helpful at all?"

"Eventually, you should be able to just sort of . . . switch through it." Spike said. "You blink into it to get a feel for all the demons around you and then you blink out and kick some righteous ass."

"But I was strong." I said, hesitantly swinging to my feet. "I felt good, right. I totally took you out."

"Everyone deserves one lucky shot." Spike said pointedly. "But you felt whole, right? Complete?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah."

His blue eyes swept my face and an eyebrow plucked up in a smirk. "Might be a Slayer in you after all."

"Thanks for the approval." I scowled.

His expression quickly hardened at my sarcasm. "Now get off. Lessons over today."

"Really?" I said. "It was taking on that never-ending, oh-my-God-I'm-in-the-damn-Twilight-Zone, sort of feeling."

He scowled and I scowled back and that was our goodbye.

* * *

The next morning Willow had us out on a large patch of warm grass. Which was odd because a heavy snow had fallen the previous night. It was still taking me a while to assume magic was the answer before guessing I was just insane.

Inside of this large circle of no snow, it felt like a breezy summer afternoon. The sun seemingly swept down in waves and the grass was gentle and warm. Mostly everyone had ditched their heavy outer coats and found a patch to sunbath in. With my head resting on my hands, I began to daydream about real summers spent out in open wheat fields, with good friends and family. The imaginary smell of warm bread had nearly put me to sleep when Willow's soft voice broke through the dreamy fog.

"I know this is kind of a weird time to be starting this lesson but the winter was turning me into a humbug and this exercise seemed like the perfect recipe to whip up some much-needed summer smiles." She grinned her freckled smile and some people couldn't help but giggle back, the expression was so infection.

"So everybody, find a spot on the grass that makes ya' happy and criss-cross-apple-sauce."

I rolled onto my stomach to a slightly different area, the feeling of warm grass beneath my fingers making tingles run down my spin. Was summer really like this? Warmth didn't register in my head as being something pleasant and enjoyable. It usually led to a variety of bad things but as I lay under streaming sunlight, I wondered what ever made me think that.

Unwillingly, I pulled myself into a crossed position, as the other girls had. Willow's voice was like gentle honey.

"Close your eyes and let your mind drift."

With a lot less passion to argue, my eyelids fell shut and I was calm.

"Meditation is a big part of a Slayer's life. She can use it to calm herself when the pressures of the world reach a boiling point. She can also use it to enter a state to bring lost energy back into her aura, a sort of healing process. She can also use it to activate visions of past Slayers, to figure out a certain problem or how to solve something that seems unsolvable. Meditation is very powerful if you know how to use it."

Meditation. Right. All I wanted to do now was sleep. And Willow probably wouldn't notice if I dozed off . . .

"And try not to fall asleep. A sleeping aura is very different from a in-trance aura so I'll know."

Damn it.

"Ok, so, let your mind just fall away, but concentrate on your breathing. Focus on the feeling of air leaving and entering your chest. Pictures or images might start appearing in your mind. Let them. They are there for a reason."

Inside, I scowled. All that I saw were the posters of the old rock bands and independent slogans stuck on the inside of that glass-covered bus stop. Why were they in my head now? Then the shadows outside moved and that familiar panic bloomed in my chest, immediately freezing like ice. Consciously, I shied away from the shadows, knowing the pain and blood that would follow. Willow's voice echoed in my head and Mind-Me shook its head. These things were always shaking around in my head. They just haunted me. They had no purpose. My scowl deepened.

Somewhere, far off, someone gasped. My eyes fluttered open and saw that everyone was looking at me. Or behind me. I turned and there in the circle of us all, that brunette, Jess, floated. She sat in midair, her legs crossed, like the rest of us but behind closed eyelids, her face was burning with concentration. Her breath came out irregularly and but it was obvious whatever she was fighting, she would win.

"That, ladies, is how you enter a trance." Willow said but none of us looked at her. "She's using this energy for something very important. Someone really should ask her about it."

After a short gasp of breath, Jess slowly lowered to the ground and within a brief pause, she opened her eyes. She blinked once before looking directly at me with the most intense gaze of curiosity I have ever been given.

"Well!" Willow said excitedly, breaking Jess's contact with me. "What did you see?"

"Oh, no," she replied. "I used the trance to ease off some stress. The whole babbling brook and autumn smell was a little bit overwhelming. It was like I was actually there."

"Yeah," Willow grinned. "Magic makes you feel the loopey. So, I want everyone to get a little trancey, maybe some floaties."

With a small scowl, I turned right again and sat cross-legged again. I took a few deep breaths and knew I had activated my Slayer sense. A small jerk of my head and that was gone. Not the right thing. I tried again and those stupid 80's bands appeared again. Damn it!

They don't mean anything! And neither does that night! Moments from weeks ago appeared in my head, most of them ending in a ghost of pain on my shoulder or thigh.

And then Ericka's face appeared and though I was whirling through memories seemingly endlessly, my stomach cringed at her face. Some Slayer memories flickered there too and my mother's death was there, sick and twisted.

And Spike. Spike as he drank the blood of the Chinese Slayer and snapped the black Slayer's beautiful neck. And then everything became on blur, loud and inescapable.

Then there was white. Everywhere and in me. I was made of white, light and spotless. There was nothing around me, so perhaps I was floating. Maybe I was white.

The white in front of me shimmered and there appeared the first Slayer. I recognized her now, like a deeply familiar friend you had lost contact with over the years. Her skin dark and her hair knotted and ragged, she was beautiful, the very essence of power. She walked in a crouch, animalistic and hungry. She was as close to being a demon as you could get, while still in human form. Though made of perfect and complete white, I felt a jab of sadness, knowing this life was ruined forever. The woman surveyed me with unreadable eyes and spoke.

"Your instincts are right." She said in a voice that was like audible gossamer. "Do not believe in trust. He will kill you screaming. Avoid the crooked arrow shaft, for that will lead to destruction. He will pry you apart looking for secrets. Know that is his only intention. Heed this warning or else you will be turned to ash. The world will loose two warriors. Leave well enough alone."

"We have been watching you and your progress as a Slayer. You have great power and an unquestionable destiny. Make the right decision or We will have to make it for you. We are the Powers That Be and know all. Do not question us and only abide by our warnings. This is all you will get before all becomes connected."

And I was dropped. The white left me and I fell through miles of nothing but air. With a jolt, I felt grass beneath me and hot, hot sunlight blistered my face. I opened my eyes to find everyone staring at me, including Willow. Her face frightened me, the first emotion I felt since being back.

"You're not ok." She stated. "We were connected. What did you see?"

"If we were connected, check your TiVo for the playback." I muttered and stood. Everyone seemed to lean away but I just scowled, grabbed my parka and left for the institute through the snow.

* * *

The low hum of drying machines was pleasant. The large dark room was filled with the low hums and growls and swishes of clothes washing or drying. I sat on one such machine, my head thrown back in an effort to keep my throat from drying out.

In one of my late night wanderings around the building, I found this place. When I first came across it, the noises were so alien, I wondered if something kinky was going on behind the door, but when I walked in, only square, metal machines made the bumping and rumbling noises.

For some time now, the "laundry mat" of the Slayer institute had been sitting in the back of my mind, occasionally flashing to the top as my supply of semi-clean clothes dwindled lower and lower. But with the training failure, on and off the mats, self-disgust and disappointed clouded most of my free time. However, today, with the abrupt walk-out on Willow, arriving at the training door two hours early seemed a little strange, as if I was eager from some bruising.

A large empty cotton bag sat next to one of the machines and as I threw piles of dirty clothes into the circular hole, I saw a white shirt with a dark smudge, and for the life of me, whether it was blood or pizza stains, I couldn't tell.

The metal was warm beneath my thighs, and with the gentle shaking, there was a probable chance that I would fall asleep right then and there. If this thing in my throat didn't choke me first.

What exactly I was so upset about, I didn't really know. There were so many things rushing around in my head, it was hard to believe only one made my stomach sick. After years of confusion and anger, that night finally made sense. A vampire, the thing I held a sacred duty to kill, murdered her. Irony of it all, I trained to fulfill that duty with another one of those monsters. This one might be British and gives a bad name to all those classified as "full blooded assholes", but he still had that face. The face that was horrible and terrifying, and most importantly deadly. Spike could break me in two with just his hands, but what if something went wrong, anything went wrong, and that face came back. What if those fangs came close? Close enough to bite into me? Would death be instantaneous? Or would it be painful if death didn't come immediately? Tremaine probably knew what death by vampire would be like, or any book on the subject. But there was only one person I really wanted to talk about this . . . or anything . . . to be told everything was going to be okay.

Something was crawling into my throat again. I threw back my head and hoped that the heat from the dryer would burn it away.

" Do you know how to work this?"

I leapt off the dryer, jumping from surprise. It was the brunette, Jess, fiddling with the knobs to the washing machine. A frown creased her tanned brow as she kept switching the timer, her dark curls bobbing in her face. She looked over at me, confusion written in her soft green eyes. They were wide and searching, innocent and caring like a child. She never suspected anything bad.

"I mean, I know how to work one of these," she said, still frowning. "It's just I've tried everything, and I don't know what to do."

I stared at her and then at the stationary machine, but didn't make any move to help her. Her confusion slowly changed to one of expectant waiting. I felt a scowl coming but the real hate and disgust needed to make a scowl that would make anyone cringe, the feeling just wasn't there. But, I did manage an unhappy glower as I stepped around my own dryer, went up to her machine and gave it a swift kick.

Immediately the trickle of water was heard through the metal lid and shortly afterwards, the machine started to shake as the water mixed with the soap.

"There." I said as I shrugged and went back to my load.

"Wow, everything here really does run on violence." Jess said surprised.

"No," I shook my head as I climbed back onto the dryer, resting my head in my hands. "I'm fairly sure the bathroom on the third floor works on Floo powder."

Jess laughed and smiled over at me. I raised an eyebrow. She didn't seem to notice.

"I'm Jess, by the way," she said and extended a hand.

Something lifted my hand into hers and gave it a firm shake. "Yeah, I know. We have morning classes together. You seemed to be quite the little witch."

Jess frowned. "Really? I've never really seen—"

"Seen me?" I asked without any inflection. "That's ok. I don't do tricks so it's not particularly surprising."

"No wait!" Jess said suddenly flipping around and putting a hand on her hip. "You're the girl that ditched earlier today, Reid, right? Wow! What did you see?"

She hopped up onto the washer, eager written all over her face. I gave her another glower. What was she expecting? Were we going to start talking about boys and share hairstyling tips? My features grew darker and darker. Jess suddenly shook herself.

"Oh, wow!" She said. "I'm really sorry. Whatever you saw was probably something really intense and it was totally rude of me just to butt in. Sorry." She muttered and hopped off and began to awkwardly drum her fingers on the metal. I could see blush creeping on her face from behind her dark curls.

"I think it was a vision." I heard myself talking though I didn't give my mouth full permission to open. "Or, that's what I'm guessing. I think it was the First Slayer, but she mentioned something about Powers That Be, whatever they are."

Jess frowned as she turned around. "The Powers That Be? Are you sure?"

"It was my 'final warning', some of that nonsense." I said flippantly, but an uncomfortable gurgle rose up in my chest.

From the look Jess gave me, it was clearly not "nonsense". Her small mouth tightened as she frowned. I wiggled uncomfortably. Why did I get the feeling she could see right through me?

"Hmm, well, I won't press the point," Jess shrugged. "Maybe it is nothing, but you might wanna talk to Willow, just to be sure."

I stared at her. She wasn't going to make me do anything or give me any hateful glares until I did.

"Yeah, maybe," I said. "It's probably just sleep deprivation kicking my ass."

"Oh, man, I know!" Jess sighed and sat back down on the dryer. "Those weirdo dreams, and then actually learning how to decapitate something . . . its all so . . . icky."

A flash of Spike ripping open that girl's neck, and then the _vampire_ killing my mother flickered in my head.

"Icky," I muttered. "Right."

Jess was staring at me again in that same unnerving way.

"So," I said, desperate to change the subject. "You killed anything?"

Jess's confused face quickly eased out and her joyous giggle was heard above the rumbling dryers. "Um, a vampire here and there. But as far as the big nasties, I've never—"

She made a gurgling, crunching sound and moved her hand across her neck in a slicing movement.

"Never drove something sharp into something fleshy?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's it." Jess said and nodded. "What about you?"

"Actually, I've never been on a 'demon-round'," I said, making air quotes. "I'm still watching 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon' over and over again until I get bad dubbing down."

Jess giggled again but then frowned. "Huh, I haven't seen you around the training room."

"Yeah, I came here kind of later on, and Buffy felt like I was too far behind the rest of you to just start right on in the group ass-kicking." That was partly the truth. Right?

"You met Buffy?" Jess asked incredulously. "Buffy Summers?"

I nodded and shrugged. "I know she's all Super Power Xena, but honestly, from all the hype about her, I expected her to be taller."

"Is she really blonde?"

I gave the brunette a smirk. "Yeah. We should probably hold that against her."

Jess nodded vigorously. "A blonde Super-Powered Xena. The fate of the world is running a very fine line."

"Yeah," I grinned. "Humanity and hair care products are totally on the same scale. I mean, if Target suddenly ran out of Aveda, would the world survive?"

"Just as long as Walmart has a full shelf of Bubbleyum lip-gloss, I think we're okay."

At that Jess and I buckled over in laughter.

Wow, that felt really good. Something heavy detached itself from my chest and hovered as I laughed harder and harder. Soon tears slipped down my cheeks and for some reason, that made Jess laugh even harder.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The screeching noise from the dryer curbed our laughs and I hoped off. Her washer stopped and she began fishing around for her own clothes. The warm jeans felt good under my skin as I loaded up my arms full of clothes.

"So, see you soon?" Jess asked as I neared the door. Something flickered in my head.

"I don't gay." I blurted out as I turned to face her. "I'm not—"

"Oh, whoa, yeah," Jess said quickly. "Me neither. It's just . . . you seemed like you needed a good laugh and I needed one too and so maybe, later on, we could laugh again?"

I stared at the pile of clothes, fresh and warm from the dryer. "Um, maybe. Ericka, this girl— she doesn't really like me and so . . . why— look, never mind. Bye."

Jess frowned again as I left, the heavy thing latching onto my chest again.

* * *

_*A/N Whahoo! Look at me putting up new chapters and s***. Go meeee!_


	11. Chapter 11: A Very Hairey Christmas

**Chapter 11: A Very Hairy Christmas**

* * *

The next morning I woke up to a hissing heater, something that had been coming quite a custom in my life but I never got used to it. Which was why I picked up a pillow and viciously hurled it at the metal noise box. The lump made up of sheets and a thick green comforter across the room jerked.

"Don't do that." Ericka the bed lump said. "You cover it too much and the whole building will go down in flames."

"At least it will shut the hell up," I grumbled underneath my fair stack of covers.

"Unlike some people . . . " The bed lump replied. I scowled, then suddenly sat up.

"Damn it!" I hissed as I threw off the covers. "We're going to be late."

"Do you even look at a calendar anymore?" Ericka said in a highly annoyed voice.

"Should I?" I asked and yanked on my jeans. This was probably some ruse to get me to be late again for Tremaine's.

"Yeah, dumbass, it's Christmas Eve."

I nearly fell over in the middle of pulling on one snow boot. "What?"

"It's Christmas Eve morning. So how 'bout for a spectacular Christmas gift you go back to sleep and take this day off in peace like the rest of us?"

The lump twisted again under the covers and I knew that was the end of our conversation. I snatched up her bedside clock, just to make sure. The clock read 8:03 A.M and beneath it in tiny letters read DEC 24. I continued to glare at the clock as if it would suddenly change and shout out "JUST KIDDING!" But it didn't and slowly I went back to my bed, kicked off my shoes and jeans and snuggled back under the sheets.

Wow, a whole day to do anything I wanted. Sleeping first, definitely. Then after that? Hmm, well I could just decide that when _I_ felt like it.

* * *

By Ericka's clock and her empty bed, I woke up around two with a stretch and then some much needed lolly-gagging in bed followed. Now the radiator's hiss was calming, almost necessary for the Christmas atmosphere. A full-faced smile broke out and I stretched again, the warmth of the bed and the reality of the day finally setting in. My stomach gave a hungry grumble and I knew it was time to start searching for some cookies.

One long hot shower later, I walked along the lower halls of the institute. Christmas wreaths were strung along the walls and real wooden dradles hung from the handrails to the staircases. Large menorah candles sat on various tables and their light made for a small fireplace. Christmas, Hanukah and Kwanzaa, combined? That didn't seem to matter much to anyone though. Girls hustled and bustled back and forth to each other. Large leather couches and chairs had appeared over night and girls piled onto them, some still in pajamas and others half-dressed. They all wore the same expression though: happy and perfectly content. Nearly everyone had a large cup of a steamy liquid and they laughed and talked and exchanged small packages. Their toes curled inside their large fluffy slippers and around soft shaggy rugs. There was no music playing but the air seemed to be filled with a noise that was so pleasant and sweet it very might well have been the greatest composition in history.

Sticking out like a great sore thumb in my jeans and thickly soled boots, I walked into the kitchen area where the laughter and "music" continued. Girls laid about in sweatpants and brightly colored camisoles, but those girls wore a heavy coat or sweatshirt over it. No one seemed to mind that outside it was freezing or demon spawn was hot on their heels. For a day— and a day was all they had— the outside world didn't matter. It was Christmas Eve and from the way they carried on, it would be Christmas Eve for the rest of eternity.

My sense of smell happily didn't disappoint as I found a mass of girls hanging around a long table. Pancakes and waffles ladled large white plates. Fried eggs and toast were carried on others. Strawberries and sweet pineapple sat in slices on other large trays while small boxes of cereal and ice-cold milk took up the end of the table. But what I came for sat directly next to a large vat of a dark brown liquid, which I could only take as hot chocolate.

I actually started to shake with the anxious jitters as I loaded up a plate full of chocolate chip and white chocolate macadamia nut cookies, then dipped a large plastic ladle into the vat and poured out its contents into a white mug. Then I turned, smiling for no particular reason at all.

Nobody looked up or turned to return my smile. They were all chattering and grinning, at someone else though. A horrifying high school memory flickered in my mind and suddenly I knew this was a very bad idea. With my features slowly falling in on themselves, I headed towards the door. Maybe the wall was still free—

"Hey, Reid," A voice called behind me. I was so surprised to hear my name I almost didn't turn around.

Jess was walking towards me, Ericka and Yuri scowling behind her a few feet away. They stared in disbelief as Jess raised a hand and waved at me.

"Hi, Jess," I said slowly. "You know Ericka?"

I nodded to the girls behind her and she shrugged. "Captain Oversensitive and her sidekick WonderNinja? Oh, I know them. And they seem real interested to know me."

"But you don't want to know them? Like, know them, know them?"

Jess raised an eyebrow at me. "Did you miss the whole me calling them ridiculous and racist nicknames?"

"No," I said quickly. "Its just . . . I'm usually, well, _always_ in a pretty bad mood so you should probably—,"

"Leave you alone on Christmas?" Jess said with a small smile. "You could be Voldemort and I still think everyone deserves a good Christmas."

_Oh, God, she's one of those types of people_, my mind said. It was trying to make my lip wrinkle up into a very unpleasant face, but for some reason, my lip wouldn't move.

"I think Voldemort was prettier," I finally said.

"Oh yeah, the whole not-having-a-nose thing was very attractive," Jess giggled. Someone behind us scoffed and we both glanced over to watch Ericka stalk off with Yuri following at her heels. Before anyone could stop me, I flipped them both the bird.

Jess's face fell into an embarrassed surprise. She grabbed my wrist down and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. When they didn't, she pushed me on my shoulder.

"Maybe that's why she doesn't like you, you dumbass."

"You're the one who called her Captain Oversensitive." I remarked and she rolled her eyes.

"We can point the blame in a thousand ways from Sunday but these cookies won't eat themselves." Jess snatched up a chocolate cookie and nodded towards the door. What exactly compelled me to follow her, I don't know and probably never will.

* * *

"And so she said, 'you better fix this before I go over it with my red marker!' And then I said, 'this is what I think of you and your stupid red marker'. I grabbed the red marker and snapped it in two!"

"Oh you rebel," I chuckled and dipped a cookie into the warm milk.

"Yeah evil just sweeps off of me in waves." Jess giggled madly.

We sat out on the front steps of the institute, the snow completely wiped off from the concrete on the first step. Footprints covered the grounds below us, running like an infinite maze in the snow. Several imprints of snow angels littered the ground and near the far stonewall, a snowman Slayer was staking a snowman vampire. However, one could take the stake as an extension of her arm, as it was just another stick. Far off behind us, girls laughed and argued and the basis of a snowball fight broke out. No one noticed us as we talked. Well, Ericka talked and I ate cookies.

Apparently she was homeschooled right from the beginning. Her father was an accountant, while her mother was a bright woman who always wanted to teach, but couldn't stand the thought of being away from her little girl. But then college came around and Jess won several scholarships, but her mother refused to let her go. With some gentle coaxing from her father, Jess was eventually allowed to pack up and head south, for college. However, about two months into her sophomore college at UT at Austin, Willow showed up and told her about the magical underworld, especially the part where she was the heroine meant to keep the human world and the demon-infested-world apart from each other. Her mother had also been a secret Wiccan and knew that her daughter had a sacred duty from the moment she was born. That pissed off Jess quite a bit but eventually came to understand that her mother's intentions were out of protection, not anything sinister.

"Was it hard to change from your house to a huge college?" I asked and bit into a large chocolate piece.

"Eh, kind of weird, but it felt right, you know?" Jess looked at me intently. "It felt good to suddenly be a part of something huge and alive and pulsing. Like one with this massive entity, you know?"

From my quick glance, I really didn't. Jess shrugged and laughed. "Maybe that's my pathetic loneliness talking, which I've come to notice, has a really big mouth."

"I think there's a foghorn attached to my internal clock," I said offhandedly. "When it says to wake up, I better wake up or I'll find I've gone deaf."

Jess nodded seriously. "And where would your internal clock be? Like physically located? In your brain?"

"Mine's somewhere in my stomach," I said straight-faced. "Cuz whenever I wake up, I'm always hungry."

Jess let out a wistful sigh. "Just wait until you slay something. Then there will be this bizarre-o mixture of craving for some yogurt and a really weirdly placed sense of being really horny."

"Slaying makes you hot?" I asked in disbelief.

The girl across from me raised her hands in surrender. "Hey, I think it's a curse all Slayers share. Ask anyone and you'll get the same thing. Driving something hard and pointy into a demon makes you very depressed that there are no male Slayers."

I continued to stare, one eyebrow raised. A gentle blush crept up her neck.

"You just wait. Some demon will come around and it'll make you all hot and you'll be the one blushing like a maniac."

I nodded and began to dig around in my jacket for something. "Right. Next you'll be telling me that wielding a broad sword makes me anal and grouchy." I pulled out a bent cigarette and a match. Smoke from the flame dove into my nostrils as I brought the lit match to the white end and it immediately began to burn. I caught Jess staring at me as I heaved in a puff of smoke.

She wore a face that said she disapproved but then her eyes dropped back to the cookies as she helped herself to another one and the look was gone. That was the first time no one had ever mentioned anything about my smoking. I stared at her in shock. She was trying her very best to not get on my bad side. But that wasn't because she was afraid of me; she just wanted a friend.

Something cold rushed into my throat but I drowned it out with a harsh gasp of smoke into my lungs.

"Oh damn," Jess swore and stood, her eyes clenched onto her watch. "It's late. I told someone I'd meet them later. So catch you later?"

The cigarette suddenly felt too hot between my fingers. "Yeah, totally. See you around."

She smiled and grasped the handle to the institute. "Thanks for the cookies," she said before she passed through the door and was gone.

The sun had set over the stone wall and now twilight clung to the air, bringing it with it a frosty wind and the promise of a new blanket of snow by morning. The cold something leapt into my throat again and I chunked the still burning cigarette into the snow, listened to it sizzle out before going back inside.

* * *

As I neared the dorm room, I heard laughter from inside it. A full-blown scowl climbed over my lips. If she thought that tonight was going to be an all night girls' party, she was sadly mistaken. Mentally preparing myself for a true catfight, I yanked open the door and my mouth dropped.

Yuri sat behind Ericka with a curling iron running through her blonde hair. Ericka herself was putting on some mascara in her wide mirror. Jess sat in the far corner, a Blush magazine propped open on her lap. Ericka and Yuri both cut off in mid laugh as I came into the room. They turned ugly glares my way but I returned with my own. Ericka wrinkled her nose at me before glossing up her lips with a red gel.

"Why are you back to early?" She asked trying to sound nonchalant. "I thought for sure you'd be out looking for some spiked punch."

"No actually I came back to look for my leather whip." I said, my eyes drifting towards Yuri who had returned to carefully doing Ericka's hair. "Have you seen it?"

Yuri's skin visibly prickled but Ericka only rolled her eyes. "No, we haven't. Jess, do you want me to do your makeup?"

Jess gave me a quick apologetic glance before shaking her head. "I think I know my way around a mascara stick. Thanks though . . ."

"Make up? Hair? Is there a new strip club opening downtown that I don't know about?" I asked and leaned against the doorway.

"No," Ericka said and rolled her eyes again. "Once every few months Buffy lets us go out and have some fun around the town. You know, go clubbing or shopping, whatever suits your fancy, but the local club is having this Christmas blow-out. Drinks are free and the music is live! I also heard there's going to be some fireworks shot off at midnight, but that could just be hype."

She smacked her lips successfully in the mirror just as Yuri added one final curl to her hair. The Asian girl's own hair was pulled into an elegant bun on top her head, steadied by two black ivory chopsticks. They both wore outfits that looked barely street legal. Jess, however, wore a thick wool sweater, tight jeans and black boots. And by her slightly unhappy face, it was obvious the girls forced both the jeans and boots onto her unwillingly. She looked at me apologetically again as the girls stood and pulled on their overcoats.

"Come on, Jess, we need to get there before all the good seats are taken."

But Jess just sat there and finally she took a deep breath.

"Um, no guys," she said. "I think I'll catch up with you later."

Ericka looked surprised then mildly annoyed as Yuri gave her the "you really want to stay here with that one?" look. Jess sat up straighter in the bed and crossed her arms.

"Ok," Ericka shrugged. "Your Christmas, you spend it how you want."

Her steel eyes ran over me as she flounced out the door and Yuri closed it shut behind them.

I couldn't look at Jess as I slipped off my jacket and fell into bed. There was a long silence before anything was said.

"Thanks," I said gruffly, still staring straight ahead. _For what?_ A small voice in my head asked.

"My idea of a good time is not to get wasted and sleep with as many guys as possible," Jess said and stood up. "And from that mini-skirt, I think that was their eventual game plan, you know, after the slutty dancing and shots of flaming vodka."

"Oh, don't knock all of that," I said. "The flaming vodka sounds really good right now."

Jess stared at the ground for a minute, her eyes dark as she thought.

"Um, would you want to go hit the clubs?" She asked quickly, as if she said it fast enough, I'd say yes to anything. "It's totally cool if you don't. I just thought . . . good release, you know, get out of this place . . . or something . . ."

Every ounce of being inside of me was screaming NO. She was trying to make nice, make a friend but frankly, I just didn't want to have to pretend like I cared, or didn't care. Not that I was really giving an effort, with anyone. All in all, it was a bitch to be a bitch. Jess seemed to mock the slutty dancing, but the noises and sounds and lights and atmosphere of nothing but pure black, that seemed kind of nice.

I rolled over, grinning. Jess looked up, her dark eyes low with uncertainty.

"You know what?" I said. "Yeah. Let's go. It's fucking Christmas Eve and damn it to hell if my night is going to be ruined because I want to be a bitch!"

Jess's face smoothed through confusion before she smiled back at me. "Not entirely sure I got all of that, but great!"

Feeling slightly rambunctious, I grabbed my parka off the floor and saw Jess frowning at me.

"You're really going to go like that?" She asked, her voice on the very cusp of whining.

* * *

I told her just to change into something more comfortable, but Jess admitted someone was going to have to cut her out of the pants, so it would be easier if I just changed. I said no, and she said yes, and about an hour later, we were walking down to the front gate of the institute, black leather clinging to my thighs and calves and a heavy glower plastered to my face.

"It's not that bad," Jess said happily as she wrapped her arms tighter around her waist to block out the wind. "Your ass looks unbelievable in them."

"I don't need pants to tell me what I already know," I growled and shoved my hood up around my face, just in case anyone tried to recognize me.

The foliage to the right and left of the institute's gravel pathway was aglow, lights strung up in trees and wrapped around bushes like golden snakes. Shapes that moved in giggling packs spilled across the front steps and carefully picked their way through the foliage to exit through the massive black gate in the middle of the stone wall.

A few were already snowball fighting; I assumed they were the younger ones, for the older Slayers quickly put an end to the war when a freelance projectile landed into one of their perfectly manicured hair-dos. Jess and I didn't even bother to close the door behind us: the second my hand left the handle, someone from the other side pulled it open, chattering vigorously to a neighbor, not even realizing we were there. Jess shrugged and bounded down the steps.

Snow crunched beneath our feet and as we approached the large metal gate, I felt a sense of near and inexcusable freedom break out over my skin, rippling it with chills. I wanted to pause as we passed through the gate, to run my hand along the metal and see if there were little detonators that created a force field. I wanted to see if it had been this easy to run away all along.

However, the wave of Slayers pouring through the gates kept us moving. Immediately a beautiful verse of _We Three Kings_ stroked my ears as the aroma of roasted almonds tickled my nose. With a sudden cringe, I was five years old again sitting next to a roaring fire, writing out my "Thank you" note to Santa Claus while sitting in my mom's lap. Snow twirled outside in heavy sheets and the hour was nearing ten, which shortly afterwards, my mother put me to bed, adamantly saying Santa wouldn't come unless I was deep asleep.

"Reid." Someone was shaking my shoulder. "Come on, I think we'd better hurry and get to Puzzles before its totally jammed."

Swallowing a large knot in my throat, I nodded and followed Jess down the street.

On our way over, I noticed that this town wasn't very big. Sort of a rustic old thing with history thick and deep, including statues of people who saved the town from an Indian capture back in the eighteen hundreds, or even the man that founded the town with his copper shovel. I had never been one for geography but New Hampshire refused to leave my head as we tottered around the streets, carolers walking merrily up and down the sidewalks, pausing and belting out their songs for anyone who would listen. A large white gazebo stood in the middle of town and it was infested with snow, yet no one seemed to mind as girls, boys, men and woman talked and ate roasted chestnuts and drank cider.

A small blonde boy hurled down the streets, threatening the girl he was chasing (who must have been his sister) with an icy cold drop of snow down her shirt. I stared slightly as they raced around the gazebo. A boy. Huh. One day he'd be a man and he'd smooze women with his manly essence. Either to use them for sex or just somebody who'd listen to his complaining about the bad job at the lumber-mill, this little boy would never know that a whole house full of super powered women lived just down the street, where stamina wasn't an even issue. Isn't that sort of every male's dream?

A mass of dark shadows waited on the outskirts of town, about a fifteen-minute walk through the back streets. The streets led off to what could have been taken as a junk yard in day light, for the building we approached was made of several large rectangular metal boxes, usually used for storage. A large metal door was carved in the center of the lowest one and people came in waves through the door.

Jess found an opening through the wave and we dove through, the pushing and shoving dumping us into a wide room. In fact, it was huge. The ceiling was at least twenty feet above and littered with small lights, covering the black in small golden bulbs. A metal balcony ran around the upper levels of the club, a few sofas and curved black chairs sat in the corners of the balcony, hidden and disguised. Strobe lights flickered and flashed, humans flowing in out of the black like ghosts. A bar was hidden up under the balcony and with every flash of light I noticed more people scuttling from a chair to a sofa then to be hung up like wallflowers. An empty musician stage was thrown up in the black, hidden and secluded like a bad child. Speakers thumped out hypnotic beats and the shadows on the dance floor hummed in response.

But what was most fascinating was the strategic placement of the dance floor. It took up most of the dark room and presented its contents like trophies. Human bodies swayed and gyrated. Beautiful women threw back their heads, sweat rushing down their throats and chests, their hips twisting and shaking in short skirts and tight pants. The men behind them stroked the women with massive hands and brought the girls closer. Energy was pouring into the room, pulsated like a heartbeat and immediately wrapped around those still free of the dance floor, captured them and absorbed them with a call as primitive at the need for flame.

"Come on, Reid," Jess was pulling at my coat. "I think I see some empty seats."

We wove through those standing around, sipping drinks or chattering to friends and slid into a small cut out room. The door way was small enough to only fit a single person through at a time but the room broke out to the size of a small bedroom. It was dark, green silk curtains draped across the walls. The curtains glowed slightly, as if lights were put underneath them. Purple and gray couches were boxed up into the corners with satin footstools placed out of under foot. Only a single couple sat inside, their faces pressed against each other and tongues being used like shovels, but as soon as we came in, they scowled and left.

"So, um, good beats." Jess said after a while. I nodded and pulled off my coat.

Jess glanced out the small crawl space, the music calling to her.

"You owe me a drink."

"What?"

"You go out there and dance, you owe me a drink." I said, my arms crossed.

Jess grinned. "Fair enough deal, but I think we can get that drink now. Maybe once we've drained the last drop, you'll come with me."

"Not likely." I said firmly and stood. Jess frowned. "You give me the cash and I'll go buy. I need to walk."

The brunette whipped out her wallet and tossed me some cash, then stretched out on the couch, a wide grin smothering her face. "You get the drinks and I get to dance. Nice."

I rolled my eyes and slid the dollars into my back pocket. I squeezed between the small doorway, spilled out into the massive crowd of people, rode along the back walls, ignoring the couples face-sucking and the drunk coeds and slipped out around a bar stool. A large man with a white beard braided with tiny poinsettias smiled at me as he handed a blonde girl an eggnog.

"What can I for you?" The man asked and quickly added: "Ho, ho, ho!"

I frowned at him and his "jolly" manner dissipated. "So what'll it be?"

"Um, a Christmas Cosmo," I said slowly glancing at the menu. "And one Peppermint Hard Stick."

The man nodded and turned away, beginning to make our drinks. I leaned forward on the bar, loving the feeling of having nothing run through my mind.

"Slayerness getting to you?"

I frowned and saw that Buffy was the girl sitting with the eggnog. She was idly stirring the white liquid with a small straw and staring lowly at the floor. "Be a Slayer sucks sometimes," she nodded then scowled and chugged the eggnog, a bitter face appearing afterwards. "No, wait all the time."

She was clearly on the verge of being very drunk. And I was NOT taking the blonde bitch home as she puked on my shoes. I glanced around, desperate to find anyone to entertain ranting Buffy. "Santa" handed me the drinks as my search became more and more wild.

"Being a Slayer is horrible," she pouted and shook her fist. "It's all 'I'm going to kill you', 'Grr', then it's all 'let's screw up Buffy's life to where's all icky and twisted and not simple, 'cuz it's funny to mess with the little girl'."

Oh, God, shut up. Trying hard not to whimper, I spun around to find anyone and immediately hit a body. Both drinks flipped in my hands and their contents poured onto my shirt.

"Careful there, luv, don't want to make a mess." Spike said, smirking. I shook the excess liquid, that which was not absorbed in my sweater, and scowled.

"Screw you, asshole."

"Is that what they say nowadays?" Buffy muttered into her glass. Spike's eyes flew from me to the blonde Slayer and his face immediately softened. The change was wickedly tangible. Spike moved and placed a hand on her back. My mouth dropped. He wasn't threatening to kill her, or going to hit her or say anything other than words of gentle comfort. If I was not much mistaken, should she return his actions, they very well make sweet love right there.

But she didn't. She pouted and twisted away. "Spike, not now."

"It's alright." Spike rubbed her shoulder but her movement to get away was less now. "I can take you home if you want."

Buffy glanced over her shoulder at me and shook her head. "Spike. Not. Now."

Spike stared at me too and an unhappy glare latched onto his face. "Bugger off, squeaky."

"Merry freakin' Christmas, you bastard." I scowled and stalked off to the other side of the bar to reorder. The Santa-like man returned with another grin on his face, but now it seemed slightly sinister.

"Same thing, babe?"

"Yeah," I muttered. He held out his hand as if expecting payment. I scowled and threw him the cash.

As the "generous" Santa bustled away, I rested my head in my hands, bored and a dull throbbing beating the inside of my skull.

"Spike, please stop."

I glanced up to see Buffy refusing to let Spike touch her. He wore a hurt expression and she was borderline anger and guilt.

"Come on, Buffy. Let me help you."

"I don't need your help Spike!" She finally stood and shoved away from him. "If I need any help, I'll ask Angel for it!"

At that, Spike froze, his mouth dropping slightly. Buffy had clearly struck a nerve. She frowned as if to say something to make it better, decided against it and spun on her heel and left.

"Here you go, lady," The Santa returned and placed two drinks in front of me. "Christmas Cosmo and Peppermint Hard Stick."

They both had plastic lids. Resisting the extremely persistent urge to smash his grinning face into the wood bar, I snatched them both up and barreled through the crowd.

When I found Jess again, she was completely stretched out, her shoes gone and a magazine dropped dramatically over her face.

"God, I thought you had gotten eaten up by the crowd or something," she said and scooped up her drink. "Ooo a festive Cosmo, good thinking."

She downed half of the drink right there.

"Slow down," I said and took up the couch across from her. "I am not carrying you home as you tell me how much you love me."

"That's after I puke on you and that usually doesn't happen until the hangover kicks in," Jess said solemnly and licked the corners of the glass. "You're safe tonight."

I shrugged and fingered the drink in my hands. "Do you know anything about Spike and Buffy? Like relationship wise?"

Jess giggled and dipped a skinny pinky finger into her drink. "Oh the stories I could tell . . ."

"As in nasty juicy stories?"

"And then some." Jess grinned. "Besides the inescapable gossip that seems to follow the young and undeniably beautiful, any particular reason you want to have stories to blackmail Spike with?"

I took a large swig of the Peppermint Hard Stick before answering, something like morals swishing around in my mouth. "Spike's my trainer. I told you I came here a little bit later than the rest of you and Buffy thinks I need to be caught up. So she placed her favorite vampire as the dragon tamer."

"Second favorite vampire," Jess said with a smirk.

A childish, tween giggle was welling in my throat but I bit it down. "I feel a story coming on."

"Oh, yes."

"And?" I asked, excitement pulsing through me.

"Well, there's a huge back story to all of it, but it goes something like this . . ."

Thirty minutes later I knew several things. More than a hundred years ago, a single vampire group basically ruled and ate most of Europe. Four elite vampires made up this bloodthirsty and vicious gathering; beautiful Darla, with hair as gleaming as the sunlit snow, dark and clinically insane Drusilla, with hair as black as her heart. Then there was evil and truly demonic Angelus, who killed for pleasure and the warm feeling of blood in his hands. Then there was William the Bloody, who came later to be known as Spike. He was the childe of Drusilla, both his creator and lover in a world of eternal night. ("His Sire, alright? But they liked to make with the kinkies too!" Jess had said, exasperated.) They ruled and ripped carnage everywhere they went, destroying and killing all that moved. In some way they were all connected, sire from sire and to sire. An ancient vampire by the very vague name of the Master turned Darla in 1609, saving her from syphilis and the human coil. In 1753 Darla sired Angel and they were inseparable, only when Darla's "Master" called. Then Angelus found a young girl while they were in London, around 1860. She was clairvoyant and perfectly and totally innocent, therefore intriguing Angelus to create his greatest masterpiece of destruction and pain. He captured this girl, tortured her to the brink of insanity and made her watch as he killed every last family member, finally pushing her over the edge. Then about twenty years later, Drusilla caught her eye on one young man as they walked down the streets of London. Drusilla lured this man in and instead of an easy meal, she made him a vampire, and hence Spike was born ("or reborn is the correct term").

Spike killed his first Slayer in 1900 during the Boxer Rebellion in China. Angelus and Darla were back together after a fair amount of time apart. During that time apart, something happened to Angelus that almost made him untouchable to vampires everywhere. In 1898 a gypsy family cursed Angelus with a soul. A creature that had not felt guilt in over a hundred years, was now swimming in it, hearing every night the screams of his victims and seeing their blood-covered faces in the dark. The gang stayed in China for a while until they went West. Angelus, now called Angel, permanently broke apart from Darla and roamed the streets of New York, eating rats and drowning in his guilty sins. Spike and Drusilla were still together and in 1977, Spike killed Nikki Wood in a subway car and took her black leather duster, which some demons have called "his second skin" because there is few a time when he is without it.

In late 1998, Spike and Drusilla arrive in Sunnydale, California, following a rumor that the Hellmouth will make Drusilla strong again after an attack in Prague. This is where Spike crosses paths with a third Slayer, Buffy Summers.

"Wait," I said. "What?"

"Yeah, Hellmouth, a magical convergence of demonic forces and if used in a certain way, it's a doorway into Hell."

"That sounds like so much fun. But I thought Spike had a soul."

"He does, now. Back then he didn't and I'm getting to that part so let me finish . . ."

Spike and Buffy fought many battles against each other, Buffy's victories usually coming from the aid of her friends and her century-old boyfriend, Angel.

"Angel?" I asked, wide-eyed. "As in Angelus, Angel, the Scourge of Europe? _That_ Angel?"

Jess grinned. "Yep."

"So what, a sixteen year old Slayer Buffy is dating a full blooded monster?"

"Well, he has a soul now and that keeps him from killing and doing dastardly deeds. He's basically human except for, you know, the blood lust, the no-going in sunlight and immortality."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Yeah. Basically."

"Anyways . . ."

Spike actually kidnapped Angel for a ritual that would bring Drusilla back to full health, the ritual was completed but in the process, a church fell on Spike. He and Drusilla stayed low after that. Meanwhile, things between Buffy and Angel became more& well, hot. After a particularly nasty run from Spike's minions, the pair headed back to Angel's apartment and did the dirty. Apparently, it went very well, so well in fact, the pair of them were perfectly happy, as a first-time should go, but that wasn't the end of it. Angel lost his soul again, part of the curse given to him by the gypsy's. He could not have one moment of perfect happiness unless Angelus would make an infamous return. And this time, he did and began wreaking havoc on the town of Sunnydale. He killed again and reunited with Drusilla and Spike, which seemed all fine and great until Angelus started making advancements on Drusilla again.

"Again?"

"Yeah," Jess said. "See way back when they practically ruled Europe, everything in the four wasn't the grounds for a nice little family. Spike seriously resented Angelus for never letting him forget that he was the top vampire, not Spike. But it went even further than that. Though Drusilla was eternally Spike's, Angelus loved to play sexy games with her and of course, being completely nuts, she let him. Spike didn't blame her for it, only Angelus for taking advantage of his lover while he sat by and couldn't do a thing about it. Angelus often liked to make Spike his . . . well, bitch."

"That'd make anyone hate his guts." I said. "I mean, if you love someone like that and then someone else constantly reminded you of how easy you two could be pulled away, yeah, I'd want to kill him too."

Though he had sworn to make this Slayer dead beneath his feet, Spike turned to Buffy, offering his help to stop Angelus from destroying the world by opening a portal into Hell. Of course, he really wanted Drusilla back, but if Angelus was wiped off the map in the process, well, that would be just be two birds. So, when it all came down, Spike managed to grab Drusilla and left Sunnydale for what seemed to be good, driving off to Brazil. Buffy, back in Sunnydale, fought with Angelus for a while and then Willow, who was just beginning to stretch her witchy-wings, restored his soul. Yet, Buffy knew what she had to do, and though her lover was back to normal, she ran him straight through the chest with a sword and the portal closed around him, instead of the world. Buffy ran off to Los Angelus for a bit before coming back to Sunnydale, finally accepting her Slayer duties. During this time, far south in Brazil, Spike had found Drusilla on a park bench making out with a Chaos demon, ending the pair for good. When Spike returned to Sunnydale, he found Angel back from Hell, but very weak with Buffy carefully cradling her lover. However, they were "just friends"; anything more ending in violent deaths all around. Spike then left Sunnydale, off to make Drusilla love him again. And by this time, the friendship ruse wasn't fooling any one. Buffy and Angel stopped seeing each other, friends or otherwise and she only came to him when she needed help in the Slayer business. It wasn't until about a year later when Spike returned to Sunnydale, looking for the Holy Grail of sorts for vampires, the Gem of Amara which made any vampire immune to staking and sunlight was their new best friend. Buffy, now in college, eventually took the ring from Spike and sent it to Angel in L.A. Spike, of course, followed and was backstabbed by a minion, which left him Gem-less and infuriated. He made the stupid mistake of returning to Sunnydale again, for unbeknownst to him, a government organization was capturing demons and making them harmless. Spike was one such victim and had a chip implanted in his head and it was only until he discovered he could still kill demons, did his life have anymore meaning. He chose to help the Scoobies, Buffy's gang, out of the need to kill demons, not out of good intentions, like Angel had. And then, one year later something changed that would reset the course of Spike's unlife forever. He realized he was in love with Buffy Summers, a vampire Slayer.

"Buffy?" I asked incredulously. "The girl who had repeatedly kicked his sorry ass?"

"Apparently the line between hunting to kill and hunting to make love to is not as fine as we all thought . . ."

"He's a twisted bastard."

"Duh."

"Didn't he know Buffy would never love him back?"

"Probably, but that didn't stop him from making advancements."

"He actually told her?"

"Repeatedly."

"He really IS twisted."

Spike constantly reminded the Slayer that something inside him changed, that he loved her so much he was drowning in her. He often tried to make nice with the rest of the Scoobies, but since his past was all so fresh in their minds, he never got far. The Slayer's little sister being an exception.

"Little sister? Did I miss something?"

"Nope. Dawn, the kid sister's name, was a magical key given to the Slayer in the form of a young girl. Memories were implanted into the Slayer's head and those around her, so that fifteen years of having Dawn in their lives was normal. The monks who sent the Key to Buffy wanted it under protection from a Hell-God that was bent on opening the threads between worlds so she could go back to her own Hell dimension but by doing so, destroying our own."

"So I'm guessing Buffy stopped the end of the world, or else we wouldn't be here."

"Yep. Shut the whole thing down and died."

I choked on my drink. "Died? As is no longer alive?"

Jess grinned. "Yep. Then right at the end of the following summer, Willow totally went witch-pro and brought her back from the dead. Laughter and merriment was to be found, but not for Buffy. She was all morbid and was rightly pissed off to be brought back from heaven."

"Heaven?" I asked quietly. Paradise. True eternal bliss. Then you have to come back to this place?

"Yeah," Jess said, her placental eyes knowing exactly where my thoughts lay. "But, it wasn't all bad, because shortly after the whole town of Sunnydale went Broadway Chicago, she and Spike ended up sleeping together."

"The vampire?"

"Whom she hated and repeatedly told over and over that there was no way she could ever return his crazy, creepy, love slash obsession."

"Ok, backwater Buffy, anything else?"

"Well, Buffy's life went down the crapper for about a year. She had no money, her sister hated her and she was sleeping with Spike to get her rocks off. Not to mention that Willow's first girlfriend, Tara, left her, then was later on shot and killed by a total psychopath. Giles went back to jolly Ol' England to give Buffy room to become a true adult and Xander left his fiancé at the alter on the day of their marriage."

"Xander was going to get married?" I asked surprised. "He'd have to come off his high horse to even look someone in the eye."

"He wasn't always like that," Jess said quietly. "His jokes weren't so morbid and he used to smile. But then at the end of the last year, his ex was killed in battle."

I stared at her. Jess sat, fingering the rim of her glass, her mind obviously in a very far off place.

"And you know this . . . how?"

Jess sat still for a minute before making a face that was a cross between a grimace and a smile. "Intuition, lets say. Makes it easier for us both if that's my answer."

She had never pressed anything with me, so I would return the favor. I urged her, however, to go on with the story.

"Right," she said. "So after Tara was murdered by one of Buffy's new enemies, Willow went into this dark rage. I mean literally, dark. The magics she tried to control were suddenly released from within and they took her to a very evil place. She killed the man that took her Tara away from her and she was then bent on a quest to stop the pain of humanity by bringing it all to an end. She was going to destroy the world and Xander, of all people, stopped her. He told her that he loved her no matter what she did, no matter how big a bad ass she was, or how tiny and sad and nerdy she was. He loved her just the same and apparently that was enough to stop the end of the world. She was brought back to England with Giles to control her vast power before returning to Sunnydale. In the meantime, a huge evil called the First came to town and began to kill girls throughout the world that had the potential to become the next Slayer."

Something stirred in my memory and a hospital and Giles cleaning his glasses came to mind.

"Yeah," I said slowly. "Giles mentioned something about the First a long time ago."

"Well, it was a big deal. But we're missing a big issue here. Spike."

"Wow, yeah. So sleeping with Buffy, a lot."

"But it was more than that," Jess said, her voice taking on that distant tone again. "Spike originally thought that this was it, that given one night with him and she wouldn't be able to live without him. Which was partly true, but not for the reasons he wanted. She saw him as an escape from life, from the pain of being back and he thought, or maybe hoped, that she was finally falling in love with him. But that was certainly not the case and after accidently catching Spike and Xander's ex, Anya, in the act, she was visibly in pain. He thought that was the final deal, that it hurt so badly because she loved him. Spike, one night, went to talk to her after the fact, and then he—"

She trailed off, her eyes thick as though she was watching this event play out right in front of her.

"He tried to rape her." Jess finally said. "He wanted to make her feel the passion again, the fire when they were together."

"He wouldn't do that." I said shortly. "I mean, he's an asshole. But he wouldn't. Would he?"

"It shocked them both, Spike in such a way that he knew he had to change before he could go on living. So he left Sunnydale, for Africa, to seek out a legend about a demon that would grant any wish if the Trials were completed. Spike won and he was given back his soul."

"Spike won his soul, for Buffy?" I asked slowly. He nearly died to be a better person, for someone he knew would never love him back. But _he did it anyway_.

"Yeah," Jess said, agreeing with me in more ways than one. "So, imagine her surprise when he started to kill humans again."

"He what?"

"The First, the big baddy, was controlling him through his new soul and the chip in his brain deactivated whenever he killed, then reactivated after the First left him alone. Eventually the trigger was broken, but not before Spike repeatedly asked Buffy to kill him. He wanted to die for the things he done, and he was willing to risk Hell to do it."

"And Buffy still didn't love him?"

"Well, that's much disputed. She definitely couldn't ignore the risks he took to be a better man for her but after everything, could you love someone like that?"

"I would try." That was the god's honest truth.

"She told him though," Jess said, her eyes drifting off again. "Angel, in L.A, sent an amulet to Sunnydale that would help in the coming war against the First. Eventually, when it was all going down, Spike, who was wearing the amulet at the time, began to glow and eventually killed all of the Turokan vampires, whose numbers lay near the ten thousands, he killed them all in about fifteen seconds by channeling sunlight through the amulet and his very soul."

"Spike saved the world?"

"Yeah and as the Hellmouth crumbled down around them, Buffy told Spike she loved him."

"Wonderful timing, crazy bitch." I said, astounded.

Jess laughed. "I know, right? So then the Hellmouth closed and Spike somehow made it out. The epic love tale that was Spike and Buffy seemed finally to have a fairytale ending, and that was until Angel appeared on Buffy's Italian doorstep, one hundred and ten percent _human_."

"Human?" My mouth dropped. "As in flesh and blood and beating heart?"

"Yep. Now I probably haven't done their story justice, but what Angel and Buffy had is matched by a very, very small few. Spike and Buffy's love story may not even make the list. Angel fulfilled a prophecy and played a pivotal role in an epic battle, giving Buffy the amulet and combined with his several decade's worth of good deeds, he was given a full blown second chance."

"Wait, so what happened to Spike and Buffy?"

"Buffy took Angel in and that same old fire began to relight and bondages were made again, only this time when the burning fire that is love finally consumed them both, there was no backlash of Angel killing everyone."

"And Spike?"

"He stayed around, finally a hero, but he was now just a family friend. He and Buffy remain close friends to this day."

"While his bastard of a once-sire gets to parade around with the love of his un-life, flaunting humanity and Buffy in his face?"

"In a nut shell." Jess sat back and took the final swig of her third drink, her eyes studying my every move.

I stared at the ground, the liquor from my fifth Peppermint Hard Stick burning my throat. Is this the reason why Spike walked around like nothing could touch him? Because nothing really could, because, nothing mattered without Buffy. Was it Buffy's fault that he was a complete jackass and this was the only way he could deal with his grief? Something like familiarity bit the inside of my mouth.

"I need a smoke," I muttered.

Jess nodded and sloshed the salt around in the bottom of her Christmas Cosmo. "Ok, just come back with drinks. I'm going to go dance."

She was already gone by the time I pulled out my pack of cigarettes and some matches. I twisted and dove through the thumping crowd and shoved heavily on a metal door. A cold blast of fresh air stung my face but the night was as refreshing as a sharp mint. I stood in a back alley, the left leading off into endless black and a chain metal fence to the right, with a variety of overturned trashcans and empty boxes littering the ground.

With a sharp scrap against the brick, the match came to life and I cupped my hand around the flame until it sizzled with glee against the tobacco paper. The match fell to the ground, done and complete in its service as I gulped in a lungful of hot smoke.

Spike lost everything he ever loved, and to someone who had haunted him for decades. What was so freaking amazing about Angel that gave him the audacity to take away the one important thing in Spike's life? And who the hell was Buffy to diminish all the pain and suffering Spike went through, just for her? Forget love or passion, acknowledging how deeply this man loves you is just common freaking courtesy. How dare she—

Wow. I giggled. I was actually feeling sorry for Spike. Drunk didn't even begin to cover it.

"Having a nice time, luv?"

The voice coming from the moving shadow nearly gave me a very violent heart attack.

"God, Spike," I gasped and breathed in more smoke, trying to settle my spastic nerves. "Is that you?"

"In the sodding flesh," he said and stepped into the full cast of moonlight. "But apparently you have to have a damn working heart and be a righteous git to get anything around here."

Something, tasting sick and metallic, almost like pity, swarmed on the tip of my tongue. Tipsy words came lashing out on my tongue, and I knew very well neither he nor I would remember this tomorrow.

"Spike, look," I said, noting the very drunk way he stumbled towards me and the blurry tinge with which I watched him. "Screw that Angel. He's a stupid, arrogant jerk that thinks he can get whatever he likes because he was once a bad ass."

"Is that right?" Spike asked, now frightfully close. I cringed, knowing the only time he was ever this close was before he punched my lights out. But if he was going to beat me down, something else was going through his mind first. He stumbled as he reached out and took the cigarette from me and took his own violent gulp. Normally I would have kicked him in a place where it wouldn't grow back but that metallic taste only let my face make a semi-angry expression.

"And Spike, I know why you're such an ass. I know Buffy left you."

Spike stared down at the ground and kicked a pebble with his boot. "Do you think she ever loved me? Or was it just the butterfly in the tummy sort of thing?"

"I don't know and frankly I don't really care." I said and snatched back my cigarette. "You just need to move on."

"Would you love me?" He asked loudly, his eyes gray and hard like steel chains. "If I nearly died for you, to become someone you might accept, would you love me?"

"I would try." I said bravely and so stupidly. Spike looked at me the same way he had looked at Buffy while at the bar: sad and lonely with bare wistful hope; it was all he could do. Somewhere far off a crowd counted down to Christmas day and as I stared off into the midnight sky, Spike suddenly moved with lightening speed. I wanted to cringe, waiting for pain to explode over some part of my body but it never came.

A gentle hand swooped up around my neck, pulling my head up before soft lips parted my own and Spike was kissing me. Someone in that counting crowd let off a firework, the light scorched behind my closed eyes and then I shoved him away.

"God," I spat. "You pervert. I'm trying to help you and you try and French me."

"Merry bloody Christmas." He garbled. He took my cigarette again.

"Can you guys do that again?" Someone asked from the dark alley. A tall thin man with abnormally pale skin stepped into the florescent lights. He wore a dark black suit and walked as though the night carried him forward on its cool breath. His carefully trimmed beard and sharp hair spoke of a very expensive haircut.

"Christmas is so full of love and romance. I just can't seem to get my fill."

Something wasn't right about this man or the way he walked and spoke. He was out for something other than festive partying.

"Buzz off," I snapped but Spike just chuckled. He chucked the cigarette to the ground.

"You don't know what he is?" He laughed again and spun drunkenly on his heel. "Whew, this should be good."

Spike stumbled back to the wall and waved me towards the man in the suit. The man was frowning.

"Ah, that's no fun," he frowned. "I wanted my boys to feed on two passionate lovers locked in an internal embrace."

"There's love everywhere tonight, just not here."

Buffy was standing with her arms crossed in front of the metal door. Her eyes glittered fiercely in the dark night. "You could have chosen any other street in this god-forsaken town but you chose this one. And you know what? I'm really glad you did."

"Feed?" I asked, my gaze switching back and forth between Buffy and the man at the end of the alley. "We're seriously going to stop this guy from munching down on some curly fries?"

"Use your Slayer sense, Reid." Buffy said sternly. "He's not human."

The tingles running down my spine finally made sense. I thought I was getting vibes from Spike but it was stronger. I should have realized that; the guy in the dark suit was a vampire.

"Slayer?" The man said, frowning again. "Well it's not the heated blood of drunken love-fools, but Slayers blood . . . Hmm. Maybe the boys will like Slayers' blood instead."

He made a quick twist of his wrist, in a calling movement, and from the shadows, figures moved out into the open. They came, crouching and crawling, hissing and growling. Vampires. Their faces were contorted and twisted, fangs open and barring. Their demonic eyes were set on the three of us. There must have been at least ten.

Buffy called to me and something twirled into my hand: a stake.

Fight. Kill. It was my destiny.

Four of the vampire immediately set off for Buffy and three dashed off towards Spike. And three came straight at me. One leapt, its fangs baring and glistening and I ducked. It crashed into a trashcan behind me and was still.

Wow. Was it really that—

A fierce punch collided with my face and I stumbled. There were growls and hisses and I knew they were coming closer. But it didn't hurt. Ok, it did, but nothing like one of Spike's punches. I opened my eyes to the vamps swirling around me like solidified flames and grinned.

One with a bad mullet swung for my head again and I ducked, blocked and kicked him right in the chest. The vamp's body limp in my hands, I twisted and hurled Mullet into his accomplice, a vampire with a large nose piercing. The vamp in the trash stirred and bounded to his feet, hissing and clearly pissed. Trash Vamp tried a kick but I blocked. It punched but as I blocked out with an angry growl, Trash Vamp grabbed my wrists and smashed its forehead against mine.

The world swam with black night and flashing lights. A pain, rivaling one caused by Spike, had exploded in my head and I dropped to my knees. Something painful latched onto my shoulders and pulled me to my feet. Something else was punching my face. I felt skin rip and blood poured down my cheek.

This was training. Spike, being so fast, managed to hold onto me as he beat me to a pulp. But this time, he wouldn't stop until those white, solid fangs pierced my flesh and drained me completely of life.

I ducked and heard a grunt as one of those wild fists collided with the vamp behind me. I kicked up with my heel and the Trash Vamp groaned, my foot getting him right between the legs. The grip around my shoulders loosened and I twisted forward, hurling Nose Piercing to the ground. My hands jerked up, the stake clutched tightly in my fingers and drove the weapon home. Nose Piercing shattered into oblivion. Mullet had come around again, crouching down. His head popped back as my foot connected with his chin. He flipped back, sprawled out on the ground and my stake plunged into his chest. Mullet was gone and then Trash Vamp shattered into dust without much of a growl; I had ducked and stabbed.

Buffy was pulling a vamp away from Spike as he smashed another's head into a brick wall. Buffy flipped the vamp and with a victorious stab, it showered into dust. Spike spun the second and like a well-oiled, perfectly synced team, Buffy destroyed that one as it came across on Spike's swing. The head vampire in the suit was long gone.

There was a brief silence before Spike turned sheepishly to the blonde Slayer near him.

"Buffy—" he began.

"Spike, what the hell were you thinking?" She asked incredulously.

"I didn't mean anything by it. I'm completely waste-faced drunk and I—"

"Spike, why do you think Reid isn't ready for the field?" She interrupted and looked at me. A small smile broke out over her face. "She's amazing."

Spike's mouth dropped as he switched his glare back and forth between Buffy and I. "She's— I— we— right, then. She's bloody brilliant."

He nodded towards Buffy, gave me a quick glance before heading back into the club.

"I don't know what he's looking for," Buffy shook her head. "You're really good at Slaying. Would you want to come on a patrol with us? There's one tomorrow at a local graveyard. Nothing to fancy but you gotta roll before you can back-flip."

Real life Slaying. Doing the real thing. And Buffy thought I was good enough. Screw Spike and his stupid training. I can totally kick ass.

"Yeah, God, yeah," I said grinning and spun the stake in my palm. "Let's do it."

Buffy grinned but the expression was transparent; inside I saw a flicker of doubt, as though she was worried what I would do with a full blown battle axe.

"Great, see you outside of the institute around five tomorrow. Merry Christmas." She waved over her shoulder and walked back into the club.

A jolt of excitement bit my nerves and a naïve pride made me think of Jess. It was Christmas, maybe I should tell her. With a smart grin, I fell back into the twitching black with neon lights and pounding music. It was Christmas and I was going to tell her, whether she wanted to know or not.


	12. Chapter 12: A Ghost of Happiness

**Chapter 12: A Ghost of Happiness**

* * *

"Oh my god, I'm gunna be sick." I rolled and vomited yesterday's meals into a plastic waste band.

"Can you puke quietly?" Jess groaned, a blue ice pack covering her head.

"Can I just not puke?" I cringed and rolled back under the sheets.

After I found Jess and pulled her from a pack of hungry-looking males, I told her what had happened out in the alley. Well, the drunken kiss was excluded but that wasn't important. I totally took out three vamps and Buffy was very impressed, enough to bring me out on a "demon-round".

"Congratulations!" Jess had exclaimed. Then proceeded to order two more rounds of drinks . . . then two more after that . . . then . . . I lost track. How exactly we made it back to the institute is a little sketchy, remembered somewhere between some drunk caroling and making a sweet pass at a trashcan.

"This is entirely your fault, by the way," I growled at Jess from beneath a pile of twisted sheets and a comforter.

"My fault? You were the one with the good news."

"You didn't need good news. You just wanted to get drunk."

"That maybe be but—"

"Hence. Your fault."

"Your sensible logic befuddles me."

"Sorry. I forgot to use troll logic."

"I am not a troll."

"Sure can drink like one."

"If I could stand, I would kill you."

"Shut up and stop screaming at me."

* * *

It was about twelve when the room finally stopped spinning and Jess headed back to her room, Ericka's sunglasses shoved haphazardly onto the bridge of her nose. It would be stupid for anyone to expect there'd be classes today, or that's what Jess had said. Not until later, at least. It was not until a loud female voice screamed firmly out of nowhere and announced that classes would started in an hour, first class then work outs would continue normally, did my day suddenly drop from being hangover bad to be a true living nightmare.

A shower was briefly considered before I realized that required moving out of bed. That motion would eventually have to be done, but it would preferably be later than now. Much later than now.

And right as I drifted back into sleep, a bell rang, signaling five minutes until classes began. I heaved onto my feet, my head swimming and my stomach swishing uncomfortably. This would only be cured one way. A quick set of clothes on, I rushed down to the cafeteria and grabbed a half-full cup of coffee, chugging it immediately. The onlookers stared and I let them.

Tremaine had some sort of demonstration set up. It was a hybrid demon, weaknesses and strengths brought together into a single body. The parts were obviously stuffed but next to them, there was a name and type of a real demon. We had to write down the best way to defeat this demon, by attacking a certain body part. The exercise was supposed to test our memory of which demon did what and the biggest weakness in each demon.

On a normal day, I would have been over with this in a minute flat. Memorization has always been my strong suit, despite many attempts to forget large chunks of life. But the booze and the nervousness that arose from the pit of my stomach every time I thought of the coming night, combined with tiny spaces and numbers, it was making me a little sick. Or really sick.

I sat in one of the front row chairs with my head hanging between my knees. Everyone else was standing around the display table, though there was a far less amount of "chipper" in the air.

All I could think about was Buffy's reaction after I slayed those vampires. She seemed impressed, maybe even proud. I really had done them in good. But what if there had been more? There had been that moment where one had grabbed me while the other beat me senseless. What if they just decided to kill me? There was nothing I could have done. That's it. I would have been dead. End of story. End of life.

Tremaine sat down next to me just as another wave of nausea swept my stomach into a riot. Oh, crap.

"How are you feeling?"

Ok, this is me. Thrown by the suddenly non-creepy Tremaine.

"Um, fine, I guess."

"It's simply moronic to have a day of lessons after the Christmas Eve." He said seriously. "Merry Christmas, by the way."

He tipped an imaginary hat towards me. I just stared.

"I should be cross with you, you know." Tremaine finally said, small talk over. "You should be up there with your classmates, solving the puzzle like a good Slayer. Why are you special enough to get to sit out just because you have a tummy ache?"

"If you're going to scold me," I said, the shock wearing off and now his old annoyance returning. "Then just do it."

"Oh, no scolding," Tremaine said and leaned back in his seat. "I'm not your official Watcher so I can do nothing, but you really should practice."

"Why?" I groaned, my head returning to my hands. "I don't think you'll appreciate your little monster over there being covered in vomit, for one thing."

"Because you have the potential for becoming something spectacular." He looked at me with eyes like flint. "You are already amazing, why not push the envelope?"

My mouth dropped. He did something that resembled a grin before standing up and going back to circling the table to give hints and answer questions.

He thought I could be a good Slayer. No, a spectacular Slayer. A spectacular Slayer. He was challenging me, and instead of ripping him a new one, like anyone who challenges me, I nodded inwardly and stood. Fine. Reverse Psychology, nice touch. I am not going to loose this one.

* * *

When Tremaine handed me back my list of guesses, I only got four out of six body parts to attack first. So maybe memorization isn't my best, but hey, look at that. In a big showdown, I had the better chance of winning because I knew what to kill first. Tremaine had mentioned something about an epic battle with one demon where it will be nothing but you and the evil spawn in front of you. Either you would win or it. And for the first time since arriving here, I had some sense of knowing; knowing when it came time to tell if the Slayer inside me was stronger than evil itself, I would be. I was strong.

Tremaine wanted to talk to me about the patrol later tonight; how I felt, what weapon I would use, the usual. He seemed genially interested. I couldn't figure why. It was not until he handed me a square sealed letter did I realize he was just Buffy's messenger. He was just being polite. An unhappy grumble of tiny guilt fluttered in my stomach for my previous assumption of this guy. He wasn't an ass; just a little bipolar.

As I took the letter, something was off. Maybe someone, somewhere had forgot to wash their hands after the bathroom, or a girl realized their boyfriend had cheated on her, or there was a car crash. But the second my hands touched the white paper, the world was momentarily wrong.

Tremaine nodded again as I left the classroom and turned up the stairs, into a secluded hallway. The wrong feeling was getting stronger and if this was some sort of bomb thingy, the damage should probably be contained. That and I wanted to be alone.

My thumb slipped under the glue and jerked forward. I pulled out a thick letter and began reading.

_Reid-_

_ The landlord called the cops last week to take out everything from apartment 301 because the owner hasn't paid rent or been in for over a month. Banks told me this over our morning coffee. We've been having morning coffee ever since you disappeared. I think he misses you. But I think I miss you enough for us both._

_A formal letter arrived from the Burger Bonanza, saying you've been fired because you haven't returned any of their calls, or been in to do the job for a month. You told me quit that job weeks ago. What else are you not telling me? _

Here the letter was smudged as though water had run on it.

_Obviously, I'm terrified. No one has heard from you or seen you since that night you ran from the hospital. How could you run away after being hit by a car? I asked myself. How could you move? How are you alive? _

_Where are you now?_

_Then yesterday I got another letter in the mail, from a man named Rupert Giles. Rupert has met you and it seems to him that "you're not the type of person that would tell their kin something very important". Apparently, you're a Slayer. A super-powered girl who saves the world. . . from demons . . . ._

_I don't know what he's smoking, or you're smoking to believe garbage like that but I honestly thought your mother raised you better than that. _

_Rupert says you're safe. Maybe you are. I just had to send this out to say all the things I haven't said for years, maybe ever. _

_Reid, I love you with all my heart and you are the most important thing in my life. What I wouldn't give to see you smile, or hell, now to see you. I saw you grow up from a terrified child, to an unhappy teenager and now I don't know what you are. And I don't care. You could be the Thing from Mars and you will always be little R to me. _

_I miss you._

_You need to know that before going to a place you can never come back. My heart will always be yours. I can't ask you to come home because I know you will do just the opposite to spite me. And that's ok. Be yourself but don't run from your past. _

_I love you forever and always._

_ -Dina_

* * *

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?" I screeched as I ripped back the curtain to Willow's tent. The witch froze in the middle of demonstrating something and the rest of the class turned to look at me. I was seething; my hands were clenched into fists, one crushing the letter and the other digging holes into my palm. My chest rose and fell in fury and well-trained tear ducts were restraining furious tears. If smoke came pouring out of my nose and ears, it would only have been slightly funny, more expected than anything. But I wouldn't have laughed. I don't think I would ever laugh again.

"_Well_?" I demanded. Willow's brow furrowed.

"I don't know what you're—"

"How can you not know?" I howled. "How can you not know that my old woman wrote a letter?"

"Oh," she said surprised. "That I know. Yeah, it came in this morning."

"_What gives you, or stupid Rupert, the right to get into my personal life_?"

"We thought we were doing you a favor—"

"WELL IT FUCKING WELL WASN'T!" I roared. "YOU STAY OUT THE HELL OUT OF MY BUSINESS! YOU AND EVERYONE ELSE AT THIS DAMN SCHOOL!"

With that I turned and stormed out of the tent, up to the building, into a dark, forgotten hallway, sat down . . . and cried.

Thousands of feelings ripped across my chest, I was sure there was some mark left; ugly gashes, red and purple lines tearing ribbons of flesh like buzz saw slicing through thick wood. A life was continuing outside of these walls and I had completely abandoned it, hoping that like a certain philosophy, people and places and things only existed when you needed them to go on. But as I so fiercely had learned, that is not the case and the world continue to buzz though I was not a part of it. I was fired. I had no job. My apartment was probably being given to someone else this very minute. My furniture, my clothes, my bed, was all going in the garbage, tossed out unceremoniously as a chef tosses out a ruined meal. He gets to start over though, the cook. He has the parts and pieces to try again; I don't. To ever return to Dina empty-handed would basically signing a form that gave permission to throw my crazy-self into the nuthouse. And, if I ever went back, it would be to say this, all this, the windows, the beds, being a Slayer, never existed. I would just be one more crazy person trying to get back something that was never theirs. But this was my destiny, right? I was Chosen for this, above everyone else.

No, a small voice in my head said. You're not special. Just look around; there are hundreds, maybe thousands of other girls given your calling and doing much better with it. They don't have to be trained by a psychotic vampire, lagging behind everyone else.

I wasn't a real Slayer, probably never was and never will be. As long as my life continues, I will be cursed as a murderer from Manhattan. I'm not the hero; only a villain dressed and taught to dance the hero dance.

Dina still didn't know what I had done. She still wanted me. She missed me, even if I didn't. With a sudden rush of guilt that moved so fast within me, for a moment I was nauseated, I thought of my mother. I thought of Policeman Banks and I cried for him too.

A part of me said that I should go to bed and sleep all of this away. The other part said, no, go kill something. Maybe that was the Slayer part, or maybe it was just me, simple and no other way to deny it. So I walked down from my corridor, my red and wet face gone in an instance, to be replaced by a heavy scowl.

I could feel eyes following me, the number growing until something large and thick was snipping at my heels, waiting to sink its vicious claws into my back. As I came down the stairs and rounded the corner to the other gyms, a sudden hand grabbed my forearm and I spun, shocked that the hand made no tear into my skin.

It was Jess. That bitch.

"God, what the hell happened?" She asked worriedly. "You totally flipped out on Willow today. What was in that letter?"

"NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS!" I suddenly roared, anger breaking through the scowl. Jess's mouth dropped.

"I don't know why the hell you think its ok to hang around me," I snarled. "I don't remember ever asking some super-powered bitch to follow me around constantly."

Jess stared.

"We're not friends. I don't know where the hell you got that idea but its damn well not true. It never was. Leave me the hell alone."

Then I told her to do something very obscene with herself and stormed off.

The sinister cloud that had been boiling in my mind ever since I read the letter was broken a bit by the horribly shocked and hurt look from her face and I yearned for more, like more poison in a cigarette. I practically kicked open the gym door. Spike turned his pale head in my direction, annoyance and preparation for the coming boredom flickering back and forth.

"Thought you were passed out in a gutter somewhere," he scowled. "Feared I was going to have to call Buffy."

Buffy.

The conversation Jess and I had before the heavy drinking began suddenly spewed itself to the top of my mind, the details clear and perfect underneath the blurry remembrances. Buffy and Spike had a thing, a big complicated thing that seemed like true love and yet . . . she chose this other guy, Angel. Supposedly before the souls, Angelus made Spike his bitch in every sense of the word and now that he's got the girl, Spike's not too happy. In fact, he's an angry bastard that can't get over the past, filled with memories that burn him like fire.

Lets see if they leave a mark.

* * *

"Now today I was thinking along the lines on something of—"

"No," I said firmly. "No. I don't want to. Let's call Buffy."

My eyes glittered; I let them. I was gauging his reaction and to my disappointment, he didn't even flinch.

"Great. Let's call her and she can do whatever she'd damn well pleases."

"Awesome plan. Well maybe she'd be too busy, screwing a human Angel and all."

At this he twitched, froze in his pacing. "What?"

My heart raced in excitement; there! "Bet they're making sweet love right now. Him being human, something that is very special. Something not everyone has."

Spike's eyes narrowed, the blue leaking into a dark black. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," I said simply. "Just trying to make a point."

"Then make it," he hissed.

"Alright," I shrugged and began pacing exactly like him: that shift of the hips that spoke of gaudy superiority and that slow placement of the feet to show exactly who was in control. "Buffy saw you as a thrill ride and now she's back with the man she had always loved, love that never wavered or strayed. She liked you. Liked to use you. A lot."

As though the ground had lurched him forward, Spike was suddenly in front of me and with a swing of a backhanded fist, blood began to pour from my nose. There is came again; that rise and swell of excitement and pleasure. With a sadistic grin, I smeared the blood from my nose onto the back of my arm.

"You had no idea what we had." Spike said, frightfully calm.

"Yeah, I don't." I said, still smiling into his face. And there, in the way he seemed to be blurred with fury, there was a weakness. I swung up, faster than I believed possible and my fist connected with his jaw. He stumbled back, a stream of blood trickling down from a split lip. "I don't know what you had but I can guarantee its nothing to what _they_ have."

Spike bent down, his hands resting on his knees, completely silent and allowing blood to drip onto the mat. The silence that surrounded us was furious, twisting and horrible like a train crushing a bike. And suddenly I noticed the hands on his knees were shaking.

"Stop, please." He asked.

This fantastic show of frailty was like sweet wine; bitter and numbing and excellent to taste. I was addicted to it, obsessed with drinking it in. I wanted him to writhe in agony.

"She's happy. Without you and with Angel, and you take it out on me. You're not training me, you're playing punch-bag with my face."

"I made her happy too." Spike snarled and stood, all traces of pain gone and leaving but nothing but a glare, marring the shine to a bear trap covered in fresh blood. "Exquisitely happy, if I do remember correctly . . . "

He had begun to circle me again, but I didn't move, only stared transfixed at the vampire ahead.

"But obviously, Angel has something with her that you don't."

Spike froze again, the words of hot truth making walking, or any movement unbearable.

"Buffy gets you hot. But you wouldn't be half as pissed off and despairingly pathetic as you are, if the man making her hot wasn't Angel. You just can't stand the fact that he has something you don't."

Something that resembled utter fury flickered Spike's blue eyes to life. But I didn't wait to see how that flame mutilated the rest of his face, for then I turned and stepped off the mat. A hand as tight and biting as a set of metal manacles grabbed my arm and threw me into the wall on the opposite side of the room. I only hit brick, instead of a wall full of sharp weapons, my head snapping against the concrete, and I hit the floor. I had never been thrown across a room before and it wasn't experience I was about to forget.

"You have no idea what you are talking about!" Spike roared. I pushed up on to my knees, something cold, like running blood, making the back of my neck shiver. I chuckled.

"Get over yourself, Spike. Jealousy isn't a pretty color on you."

His jaw set, Spike moved and suddenly he was pushing me up against the wall by my collar. His eyes were as dark as coals, churning and bubbling like the ocean before a hurricane.

"I love her. I got a bloody soul for her." His voice was low and deadly, shaking slightly in his fury. "Don't dare to tell me what I feel."

"Hey," I chuckled, my laugh and words coming out in pocketed breaths; his knuckles were driving into my neck. "I'm sure you want to do all sorts of nasty little things to her. And from what I've heard, you got about halfway through your list. So congrats."

The pressure on my throat increased.

"But," I spluttered. "That doesn't mean she won't do them again, this time with Angel on top—"

I almost laughed again but the pressure increased to an unbearable level before I was thrown into the air again, landing face first into a stool. But I flew through the stool, catching it inside of me as I crashed into a brick wall. The thing exploded against the wall, a sharp pain in my side and when I rolled onto my back, a broken chunk of the stool was bedded firmly into my side. But no sooner had I pulled out the piece of wood, two hands clapped onto my back and I was thrown again, only this time I didn't go as far but hit the ground twice as hard. Thankfully, he had chucked me onto the mats, but something in the back of my mind said the mats wouldn't do much good in the long run. A hand yanked my shoulder and I fell onto my back.

His face twisted with anger and hate and his eyes burning like a house on fire, Spike was snarling as he stared down, his legs straddling the mat beneath me. I shook my head, smiling sickly-sweetly as I touched the wound on my side.

"You can beat me until I'm bleeding out all my pores, broken in half and blind, but that won't change what is. Buffy doesn't love you like you want. She picked Angel over you and that pretty much makes you second-rate to a human. To Angel."

His hand moved so fast to my neck, the ground fell away before I realized what had happened. My feet hung in the air as he held me by my neck a full arms-length away. To him I probably felt no heavier than a small chair.

"What kind of death-wish are you playing at?"

"Wouldn't you like to know . . ."

His fingers squeezed harder.

"You know what?" He said in a low voice. "I like your plan. Beating you until you're blind sounds real good right about now."

The motion was more instinct than anything; my hands were grasped around his wrists as though I meant to pull it away but of course that effort was futile. Now, I dug my nails into his hand, my eyes never breaking contact from his.

"Do it." I murmured.

"I could do it, you know. Snap you right here and now, and if I felt like it, it could be real painful . . . and slow . . ."

"Doubt it," I said, my throat burning under his hand. "I've heard stories about William the Bloody and frankly it's a shame he's gone, or this might even be slightly threatening."

"I could tell you stories that would make you want to claw your own ears off." Spike muttered in a voice that since the day I met him made my hair stand on end. "And the best part? They're not just stories, ducks. I've done them and I still remember how."

"Maybe that's why Buffy never loved you. You're a fucking psycho—"

A furious roar echoed around the room and I flew upwards, an ice-cold hand holding me in the air by pressing into my stomach, accompanying the other hand around my neck. Something sharp and extremely painful ripped open my back as there was a distant crash. I could feel bits of glass and wires digging into my skin as he held me against the wall, shoving me deeper and deeper into a shatter light. Blood began to spill over my sides and splatter onto the mat below. It ran forwards into my hair, causing me to shiver from the cold feeling and sending another shot of agony into my back.

"That's a lie. You're crazy, mentally unstable. That's why you're not training with the other Slayers. Everyone's scared of you. No one trusts you." Spike said this with a sharp point, as though this was meant to hurt me emotionally too, but the lack of air getting to my lungs and the mounting agony in my back and sides were clogging the sound of his voice, making the world thick and jumbled.

He said something else, unintelligible. I shook my head, not listening even if I could hear. My mouth was dry and heavy, like I had been sucking on cotton.

"You're pathetic," I drawled. "You're Buffy Summers' bitch. If there was anything remotely close to a vampire inside of you, you'd move on. Hell, a human man would to better than you. You're not a man, you're a rat. A big dumb stupid . . . pathetic . . ."

The hand around my throat completely closed down on my windpipe and pushed me harder into the metal, the material whining and protesting almost as much as I did as it bent and twisted deeper into my skin. Spike didn't seem to notice I was loosing consciousness or the amount of blood I was loosing or the amount of pain I was in.

Now see, these are three factors that would certainly affect anyone's hearing capabilities. But as the world around me slowly started to fade to black, my lungs on fire from lack of air, I swore heard him whisper something in my ear.

"One day I will kill you. I promise."

Suddenly, the hands were gone and I gulped in air, immediately smashing to the ground. My head bounced once and I was still. What remained of the light above me flickered and died, throwing me into shady darkness. I knew Spike wasn't standing nearby; he had left a while ago, leaving for someone else to do the clean up.

Maybe it was lack of air or blood loss that had heard the hallucination threat, but in the moment before I completely gave into the black surrounding me, I knew, without a slight hesitation, that he would eventually kill me.


	13. Chapter 13: The First to Fall

**Chapter 13: The First to Fall**

* * *

I listened to them for hours.

Kennedy had supposedly found me, called for help and Xander, being the closest by, came and carried me back to the hospital ward, or so I am told. A few quick spells later and a pile of bloody glass sat next to my bed in a tin, a special ointment to help the wound heal faster applied to my back and gauze wrapped tightly around my waist. Willow said it would only be a few days before I regained full motor-skills in my legs. She had also offered to throw away the glass, but I asked her if I could keep it for a while. Surprisingly she didn't give me a look that labeled me as a psycho: she simply nodded, as if she understood and left the room, muttering something about needing more motherwort. That was when the yelling started.

It was not very ingenious of who ever built this place to make the walls so thin, or noise so detectable from a floor below. Or perhaps the reason their fight was so audible was due to that they were screaming at the top of their lungs. _They_, of course, were Spike and Buffy. She was furious at what he had done to a new Slayer, repeating the fact that he could have killed me. He didn't and she'll heal, he'd say in response. That went around for a while, the same points being made a thousand different ways. Buffy then moved on to ask why he unleashed on a new Slayer like he did. Lost control, he said. We were sparring and things got out of hand. Buffy found that hilarious. Spike didn't. He didn't find the fact that the moment she heard Angel needed help, she sprung out the door, on a plane to LA in a matter of minutes, hilarious either. A pause, and Buffy asked why that was relevant to what he had done to the new Slayer. He was insistent and asked the question again. Buffy's voice dropped to an inaudible level and Spike roared back in a voice that shook the whole house. "This has nothing to do with the bloody Shanshu!" He had said. Buffy yelled back, "Of course it does!" There was a long pause followed by a deep rumbling, which could only be assumed as Spike was saying something in a very low voice. Another long pause, this one long and heavy and pointed, like a man trying to lie down on a bed of needles but getting pricked every single way. Buffy said something, then something louder, something revolved around why he tried to off a new Slayer. And it was right back to the beginning.

During all of this, I had taken the small metal box that held all the glass pieces and now as I looked, apparently there were other things lodged into my back besides glass. There were bits of wire and metal and what looked to be a twisted screw. After a while I began to zone out the noise and became innately fascinated with what had been pulled out of my flesh. It was nothing too fantastic, just your fairly basic items that you would find in an electric light. Eventually, I pulled out a piece of glass the size of my hand, from top middle finger tip to the bottom of my palm. It was covered in dried blood and at the very tip something else smudged the point. It was a pale color and obviously, I was no doctor so I wondered if that was some sort of nerve fluid, the kind that if you punctured, you'd loose motor-function in your legs.

At that moment, the door at the end of the room swung open and Buffy strode through, "pissed" practically written over her face.

"Why did Spike attack you?" She asked, not a tremor in her voice but her hands scrunched up into tight fists a dead give away she was on the verge of tears.

"I told him that your relationship with him wasn't real. That you chose Angel over him because he has something Spike doesn't."

That wasn't the story Spike told her and I knew it. I just felt no need to keep him protected, to keep his lies going. Buffy's fury simmered for a moment. "What does Angel have that Spike doesn't?"

"Humanity." I said simply and put down the glass momentarily to look at my fellow Slayer. "And that just tears him to shreds. Spike is second best to Angel, apparently always has been and always will. You took away Spike's last hope to finally beat Angel at something."

There's the anger again. Her fists opened and closed, agitation riding off her in waves. I stared calmly at her, fingering the piece of glass in my own hands.

"Why?" Buffy asked. "Why would you say something like that to him?"

For a moment I faltered, for I hadn't asked myself that question so far. Before then, all I remember was getting a letter from Dina, and anger. I was so angry. Jess had told me about Spike and Angel and Buffy the night before and then that epiphany came. And I was angry. Spike was an outlet. I remembered laughing, as he threw me into wall after wall, almost begging for him to kill me.

"I don't know," I heard myself respond and looked back up from the bloody glass. "Sport, I suppose."

Any anger at Spike was momentarily forgotten. Buffy's face twisted into an ugly scowl as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"You told someone they were worthless, for a laugh?"

"No," I said and rolled my eyes slightly. "I told him he was second-rate to Angel. Well, in his mind, that is like being completely worthless. So then yes, I did tell William the Bloody he was worthless for a laugh."

Buffy's lips reared up and her nose wrinkled, her face a clear sign of utter disgust. But I just sneered.

"Careful, Summers, or your face'll get stuck like that."

She gave me another loathed glance before turning out the door. "Look, I don't know who you think you are, but stay the hell out of my business. What's going on between Spike, Angel and I is between us three, not you or any other of your little pals."

"If you're worried I'm going to spill your traumatic love life to the gang around a campfire, keep your spandex on. I don't really got anyone to tell, anyone who gives a damn about Mama Slayer's Unmentionables anyway."

Buffy paused at the door. "Well, its just rude."

I looked up from the blood on the glass, moving the broken piece just so it doused Buffy and the area around her in a dark scarlet.

"That's kind of the idea." I said, gleefully.

* * *

Willow had brought me food and she was the only visitor I got besides Buffy that previous morning. I slept often and ate when it suited me. The days passed and blurred, hours of empty magazine reading and sleeping continuing without end. In a few days time, I managed a single walk around the room before the pain crippled me back to my bed. Besides reading and wall-gazing, I listened to Buffy and Spike fighting, which they did often. They'd fight about stupid things, like Buffy's technique or Spike's method of falling, or sometimes how bright the room was. I doubted they shared a room though, because often I would hear Buffy alone, moving noisily around as she got dressed or called people. It was not until a week later did one of their fights get interesting.

One night, Buffy suggested that Spike go check up on the patient. I was often referred to as "the patient", my name too horrible and embarrassing to speak aloud . . . or maybe they just forgot. The vampire scoffed at the idea, which caused Buffy to fly into a fit of rage, condemning Spike's lack of guilt. He lives with guilt everyday, he'd scream back. And they continued like this for at least an hour and finally, near midnight, for the night was late to begin with, my eyes fluttered shut.

There have been stories written about and monsters created from this region of gray fog in your mind; where you stand on the crack of sleep and reality and the edges are so jagged and breakable, there is no distinction between them. I settled into that nook now and as my chest fell into slow rhythms and my eyelids became heavy and dragging, I saw a figure at the foot of my bed.

"Mom . . ."

The figure shifted as if wondering whether it should move or be still and decided on remaining in place. Then it took a step forward, my eyelids dropped like anvils and I fell asleep.

Sometime a week later, when I had healed and Willow was keeping me a day extra just to be sure all was right with my spine, the door to the hospital room opened again and Buffy came through, wearing a sort of leather suit. It was black and covered every inch of skin from her shoulders to her feet. The leather was plated, moveable around the joints, shoulders and hips. Her hair was pulled back and her face was set.

"Are you coming?" She asked.

"Where?" I asked innocently and yanked on the other boot.

"Demon rounds. We're heading off to somewhere around Pennsylvania, just a regular sweep of an old graveyard. Supposedly it's a vampire hot spot so we're checking it out. Are you up for it? Willow just cleared you for the field." Buffy added as if I didn't believe her.

With a grin, I pushed myself onto a bed.

"Do I get one of those dashing outfits?"

Buffy frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "They aren't really that great. Kind of tight in the wrong areas and itchy in the wronger places. But hey, they make your butt look fantastic."

She grinned then realized her statement and her lips twitched together.

"Willow should be down with your suit later. Which weapon do you want?" She asked firmly.

"Leather suit and a weapon!" I grinned. "Do I get a shiny red corvette next?"

"Not until you've killed at least one hundred demons," Buffy said.

"Well, I'll add to my collection of broken teeth and torn off horns tonight," I said, knowing I'd get a worried glance from Buffy and I did. "I'll take a sword." I finished after much consideration.

"No stake?"

"Eh," I shrugged. "It gets you too close to the vamp. I can dust them just as dead with a good decapitation."

"Did Spike tell you not to get too close to your enemy?" Buffy asked quietly. A memory of one of the vampire's white fist plunging its way into my jaw made a ghost of pain lurch across my back.

"No," I said, my lips twisting into a scowl. "He didn't. It's damn common sense."

Buffy shrugged. "I guess it is. Willow'll send down your clothes about thirty minutes before we head out. Meet us outside in the front lawn when you're ready."

* * *

The candles were lit, burning and glowing softly. I sat in my bed, my feet kicked up and crossed over each other, an seriously out of date issue of Seventeen about Brad and Jen's latest break up filling my mind with blissful stupidity. I also knew how to make a French braid, a German braid and a Scandinavian braid and knew what season of make up I was. I was a winter according to the quiz on page twenty-eight. Electric blues and grays would best show up on my sharp cheekbones and light eyes. I disagreed. Hot red lipstick and dark eyeliner showed off my eyes just fine.

Willow poked her head through the hospital door as I crinkled the corner of page thirty-five. The title of said page? What to do when the Man in your life is looking for Mrs. Right? Just how Seventeen told their readers to get over rejection, I was very eager to know.

"Hey," said the witch as she headed over to my bed. For all my anger towards her, she acted quite normally. Of course any sudden movements would make her twitch uneasily and the talk was minimal but it was anything but awkward.

"Hey," I responded with a half wave. "Got my size?"

"It might be a bit snug, but that's how it's suppose to be." Willow tossed me the suit and I fluffed it out holding up to me. It was the same as Buffy's: leather and moveable but obviously tight.

"There's a bathroom in that far back corner," Willow said and handed me a sword. "Try it on."

I frowned at her. "Are you going to watch?"

Here comes the awkward. Willow flushed and stood. "Um, no. I can leave. There's a floor length mirror in one of those offices."

She half-waved again and left and I went to change.

Buffy was right. It was snug but I liked it. Apparently it wasn't all on piece. The gloves had to be strapped on and the boots, steel-toed, had to be buckled on. The only gripe I had about the suit was that there was not enough room for underwear, meaning I was naked as a jaybird under a layer of black leather and breathable material. Bonus there was no wedgies or itchy bra straps and hard leather covered the touchy areas but it was the principle. It was the vampire, your weapon, then leather, then just you. Nothing else. Too open. Well, nothing to do about it now.

I looked at myself in the mirror, front view first. It made my hips smaller. I struck a weight lifter pose. Then I turned to the side and arched my back, sucking in my stomach as I looked. Black made me look taller; probably I should make a mental note of that. I wore dark clothes, but never black, until now.

The sword lay on the bed and I turned to pick it up, drawing across my body in an Arthur-pulling-Excalibur-out-of-the-stone sort of way. And there it was. The image I had been trying to picture ever since Willow told me I was the heroine of the people. As I stared at the reflection in the mirror, a Slayer looked back at me. It wasn't because of the suit, or the sword; it was my duty to Slay demons and tonight, I'd do it, instead of running away. A fierce thought suddenly rippled across my mind, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Would I ever meet the demon that killed my mother? Would I kill it?

Before I could get more philosophical on the subject, Willow arrived at the door, saying Buffy was rounding up the girls. I nodded and followed the witch out to the front lawn, sliding the sword into a small loop as we went.

* * *

It was a surprisingly warm for a night in the early weeks of January, but I didn't mind. Frankly, the thought of being cold in this suit was a little unnerving, unwanted shivers showing embarrassing things.

The warm wind blew thick puffs into my face, tossing my hair like a hot air balloon. I stood apart from the rest of the Slayers dressed in the black suits, and spun the sword in my hands. Spike's sharp voice suddenly echoed in my head.

_Tighten your grip. One good jab to the forearm and you've got no weapon, sweetheart_.

Out of reaction, my hand clenched firmly onto the hand and with a swish, the blade cut a sharp line into a tree trunk. I smiled begrudgingly. I hated it when the jerkface was right.

About five minutes later, Buffy opened the doors and stepped out onto the stone stoop. Willow stood behind her but the stage was completely the Slayer's.

"Regular recon," she said firmly. "Just a sweep and search. You find anything undeadish, you kill it, but only if you're attacked first. For some of you, this might be your first mission, but there's no time for moddy-coddling when today might be your last."

She paused, as if wondering the statement was too harsh then marched forward. Willow followed and the two cut a path through the pool of black clad Slayers. Willow raised her hands, muttered something too low for to be heard and then her hands glowed. She spread them and a blue shimmer appeared from nowhere. It grew to the size of a full-grown man.

"Find your buddy and get ready for battle." Buffy said before raising a blood-red scythe and disappearing through the blue shimmering air.

"Wait, buddy?" I began but like trained soldiers, the Slayers immediately turned to the person next to them and two by twos, they stepped through the blue.

Only Willow was left. "Oh," she said, looking at me, frowning. "Sorry."

I shrugged, trying to swallow the sudden nauseous feeling from the thought of suddenly disappearing to God knows where. Willow saw me staring at the blue with uncertainty.

"It's a short-range portal," she said happily. "Perfectly safe."

"Course it is . . ." I muttered and strode through.

There was the strangest sensation of water being thrown on me and I opened my eyes to the countryside. We stood on a dirt road, leading off to a dark forest, the trees like gates of iron. In the opposite direction, the dirt road went through another grove of trees but beyond that, I saw small lights of a town. Buffy was already walking firmly towards actual metal gates ahead. As my eyes adjusted to the rapidly darkening area, I saw that our large group faced a metal fence, tall bars and concrete ledges, giving the feeling of a jail cell and beyond that, I saw long rows of grass. Above us all a crooked and aged sign read _Oak Stone Cemetery_.

Buffy kicked the metal lock wrapped around the gate and with a distinct clink, the lock broke and the chain fell to the ground. She pulled back one side of the gate and strode through, a wave of increasing excitement following her wake. Nervously we shifted through the gate and into the cemetery. The last gleams of sunlight finally fell to black in the trees but in the moment night had come, several artificial lights suddenly littered the grounds. The Slayers apparently had been carrying flashlights and as I silently cursed Willow for some how passing over me in the flashlight-handing-out, something heavy knocked my knee. I grabbed it and felt a swift flush of embarrassment skim my cheeks before I pulled out the black flashlight and flicked it on.

Everyone had their flashlights pointed somewhere in Buffy's general direction, illuminating her like gold on royalty. I stuck mine off in the far distance, running the light over tombstones and crypts.

"Find a buddy to check out crypts with. If you want to solo, stay close to the tombstones. Only one vamp can rise from there and shouldn't be too much trouble. But if anything gets too fangy, just blow on the whistle attached to your right shoulder. One good blow and the Calvary's here. Any questions?"

With a nervous, collective shake of the head, Buffy waved us off. There was a moment's pause and the group dispersed, quiet chattering arising as Slayers walked off with their buddies. I readjusted the sword at my hip and took off along the stone path alone.

The first couple of feet into the cemetery was nothing but grass, shrubbery and flowers, all carefully kept and trimmed. However the small tombstones and grave sights further in had ragged patched of grass covering them and weeds spotted here and there. My flashlight dipped across the birth-date and death-date of one such grave. 1801-1867, it read. So maybe these were the older sites. Then as I continued to walk, the grass seemed to grow increasingly until it reached one of the outer crypts, and even then it ran up onto the stone, ivy continuing the climb of the grass.

The grass was cut irregularly, even in some places and not in others and between those patches, crypts sat like immortal houses. The stone path led off in various directions, all of them leading into heavy darkness, and I had a strange sense this cemetery was much larger than I originally thought. I walked along the path, noticing how faint the noises of the other Slayers were becoming. Soon, the grate of my sword against the stone and the crunch of my feet on the gravel were the only sounds to be heard, other than the unseasonal chirp of crickets.

My flashlight flickered from name to name, prayer to prayer, stone to stone, passing over them like a rock skips across water. I walked carefully and trying to be as silent as I could. Spike's sardonic voice kept repeating in my head, possibly twice as annoying because it wouldn't go away.

_Walk slower_, he'd say. _Sense the vampire. He's not going to step out of the bloody shadows and shake your pasty hand, saying "Oh hi. I'm a vampire. Please stake me now."_

Shut up, I told myself. It's my first "patrol" as they call it, and I'm going to do it how I damn well feel like.

And for all the action I was seeing tonight, I might have well been patrolling for the Queen of the Ladybugs . . .

With a dejected sigh, I sat down on dilapidated bench, fingering the flashlight in my hands. _All dressed up with nothing to kill_. Far away I saw the twitching lights of Slayers still patrolling and behind me, there was a buzz of late night insects. I took out my sword and started to push the pebbles around in the path.

Were any of the other Slayers actually finding anything? Did they all find this one crypt where a mother-load of vampires waited, performing a ritual to cause the end of the world and every Slayer in the state-area was having a grand time slaying? I paused in making shadow puppets on a crypt wall. Wow, look at me. Using words like ritual and crypt and slaying, you'd think I'd been at this for years and was a pro, when in fact, I was a bored-as-hell amateur making bunnies on the final resting place of a fellow human.

Was Buffy with the rest of the girls, having a good ol' time? Was Willow watching from somewhere, waiting to swoop down and throw a magical spell here and there if things got hairy? Did Xander (wow, I hadn't thought about him in a while) even go on "recon missions"? And then there was Spike, the image and smug sound of his voice stabbing itself into my brain and exploding, like a beach umbrella suddenly popping open. What was he doing? Probably off sulking about his great loss, or torturing some other unsuspecting Slayer about her "fighting stance". As long as I'd live, I'd never forget that fight I heard between Buffy and him, how much hate seemed to course through the words, anger and hurt and rejection fueling the fire like oil. Jess said they were passionate lovers, and maybe it was a love-hate sort of thing but even so . . . _that _much hate couldn't be healthy. Maybe that was why Buffy was with Angel, instead of Spike.

Poor bastard, I thought with a shake of my head, my mind replaying snippets and excerpts of the frequent quarrels the pair had. Did Spike really think that shoving me into a light bulb was all right? I'd heal? Or was that something he said to Buffy to shut her up? Why would he lie to his one true love? Why would he hide guilt, if there were such a thing for Spike? Something she said suddenly flickered in my mind.-

Did he ever come visit me? Obviously not when I was awake, else I'd remember but when I was asleep. Did he ever show even the slightest amount of remorse?

I frowned but before I could think on the subject much more, there was a rustle down the path and a grunt. A shadowy body flew into my direction of sight, the thing hurling through the flashlight and slamming into a crypt. A moment later a thin figure leapt onto the light and shoving a stake into its chest, the shadow erupted into dust and Yuri turned to look at me fiercely.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Patrolling—,"

"We found a huge nest in Covent crypt and we need all the help we can get!" She snapped. "Come on!"

She didn't wait for a response before turning and bounding off into the dark. I switched off my flashlight and tore after her, the noise of her boots on stone telling me she wasn't too far ahead. As we leapt over a low wall, I heard the sounds of a large scuffle, all the grunts and growls included, and quickly drew my sword. Yuri was gone, back into the fray, by the time I was right in the thick of the fight. Slayers punched and kicked while their vampires retaliated. Some, both Slayer and undead, were thrown into crypt walls and against stone benches, but they would rise again. Our group originally had been about twenty girls and there must have been at least fifteen here, all with armed-with-fangs opponents. The vampires growled and hissed and the girls returned with a kick to the face or a jab to the gut, occasionally followed by a stake to the heart.

There was a deep growl from behind me and with a sudden grace that was not my own, I ducked and heeled the vampire in the groin. He doubled over in pain and I laid him out flat with a kick to the throat. A buddy of his materialized out of the dark and came at me, this one a bit stronger and a better fighter. With a swift twist-kick, pain shot across my head as its foot connected with my jaw. I stumbled and it raced in further, giving me a sharp punch to the stomach, then another one across the face. The world staggered to the right then left and it was only when I purposefully dodged did my vision right it self and with a block, I kicked low then high and the vampire spun away. Its friend got up and came at me again, snarling furiously.

I drew back the sword and waited for the vampire to screw up first, screw up just enough until I could get my blade right through his neck.

There was barely enough time to breathe after sending the second vampire to the fiery pits of hell before another one appeared from nowhere. This one landed a good punch right in my nose and my head swam for a moment.

"This is a Slayer?" He mocked. "She who what? Moans a lot about a little pain? Please. I've eaten scarier—,"

With a jolt of speed and burst of energy, I leapt and sliced the vampire's head clean off. But yet as the dust dissolved, another shape stood behind it. And this one was distinctly female, with brown hair and innocent eyes. Jess.

I opened my mouth, to fight or to say something that resembled an apology, I wasn't sure but she cut me off with a cross between a nod and a shake of her head. Her eyes were not the eyes of a twenty-something young girl. Jess stared at me with eyes of bright acceptance, a whole and complete understanding. Whether it be life or some great unfathomable mystery, she knew what was to come, and she accepted such a fate.

Then, in the slightest breeze, the look was gone and she was dashing off to help someone else out. I frowned after the girl, the Slayer, before I was knocked to the ground by another vampire. He hissed in my ear and with a shove, he flew off and I charged him, the sword locked behind me. Then a sudden strong hand grabbed my shoulder and threw me against a stone crypt. My head bounced on the stone and a corner cut my side but I clambered to my feet after a moment. Two more were descending upon me, growling like rabid dogs. As I raised my sword and trying to decide which seemed the weaker, a third vampire leapt from the crypt and threw me to the ground. One grabbed my sword and as another went for my arms, my feet kicked and made a resounding crack on the back of the vampire's head. It fell forward and I threw it onto the third vampire, leaping after the one with my sword. After several punches to the face, a kick to the shins and a bone-breaking jab to the ribs, I had my sword back and with a swipe of its blade, the vampire shattered. The other two came back, furious as ever. My eyes locked on the undead, I made my first mistake of the night.

I gulped and had the slightest doubt. Five vampires, back to back. How many more could there be? One leapt and with a quick-step-side, I attacked the other. After several exchanged blows (more than one leaving bruises for tomorrow), that vampire splintered into dust. The other one took a swing for my head and landed it on but with a fierce kick, it stumbled back, clutching its probably broken arm. With a grin I eased forward, ready to make my kill when another vampire appeared. Then as I twitched my focus to the new one, yet another morphed out of the darkness. Then another one. They all took a threatening step forward and I felt my back hit a crypt wall. Staring evil in the face, I wondered if I would die.

Not today. Without looking away, my hands shoved the whistle on my shoulder into my mouth and I blew hard. The vampires screamed, the noise loud but excruciating for the vampires' extra senses. I blew until I had no breath left and waited. The vampires were staggering to their feet again, fury exploding out on their expressions.

_Where the hell was the Calvery?_

I was going to die. Right here and now. The vampires came closer, growling and smug, moving like the shadows of night. They had formed a tight half-circle around me, cornering me. I wondered if I should even try fighting. Maybe it was already too late to make that decision.

Suddenly, one was suddenly thrown back and in a couple of grunts and groans, two more were thrown back and two were already gone. Buffy stood there, her hair coming down out of its holder and a trail of blood leaking out of her mouth.

"Run!" She ordered and without a second thought, I bolted down the path and saw just how dead we _all_ were.

Vampires ravaged the graveyard, crawling and snarling everywhere. The Slayers were doing their best to keep them from making an all-out buffet but there were just so many, the sheer number much larger than I ever feared. The night was pocketed with sudden screams, either being cut off by self-control or . . . I didn't think of the "or".

In my trance a vampire tackled me to the ground and with a swift kick I managed to keep it away from my neck. It was too close to get a good swing at its neck, so after a punch to throw its weight around, I stabbed the vampire through the stomach. It groaned, pain erupting up its back as I twisted the blade deeper and deeper. I rolled forward and the vampire lay bleeding under me. I stood, ripped out the blade and swung it across the bloated neck of the undead.

"Are you alright?"

Buffy was there again. I nodded and she grabbed my shoulder and shoved me forward.

"I'm aborting this mission," she roared over the hum of the battle. "There's too many. We've got to get out. Tell as many girls as you can and make it to the gates. Hurry!"

I nodded numbly before running off down the dirt path. Things had taken a turn for the worst; I could see that now. Each girl had probably two vamps tailing them as they raced for the exit and in the flickering moonlight and flashlight, I saw lumps on the ground. I stumbled to a halt, my heart suddenly lurching to my throat. Maybe the lumps were vampires knocked unconscious or in too much pain to carry on. Behind me there was a vicious roar above the sounds of scramble and retreat, and a primal fear clawed apart my chest, making water fill my eyes. So I ran.

I ran without turning to help anyone, just simply to save myself. I ran like hell itself was chasing me—

—and fell over something.

As girls raced by me and vampires came after them, I sat in the dirt road staring at the thing I had tripped on. It was a body, female by the curves. _Get up and RUN_! A voice in my head screamed. But I couldn't do a thing but sit and stare. With a shaking hand, I reached over and pulled the shoulder towards me.

Her eyes more silver and empty than the moon, Jess stared up me, her neck a torn and bloody mess. Brown hair cradled her pale face like a silk shroud and her stake lay limp in her hands. She was dead.

Without another moment's thought, I grabbed one of her arms and threw it around my shoulder, the dead weight unnoticeable. Falling into the mass of girls running, we poured through the gates and tumbled through the portal.

On the other side, it was total and utter chaos. People were running back and forth between the front lawn and the institute, carrying casualties and medical equipment. Other Slayers were whimpering in pain and others walked with a limp. Orders were shouted across the grass and concerned voices bounced back and forth. I had pulled Jess off to where we were out of the majority of the chaos and people ran by without giving us a second glance. Suddenly Buffy flew threw the portal and shouted for Willow to close the damn thing. Immediately the blue shimmer collapsed in on its self.

Her hazel eyes scanned the crowd, as if assessing the damage. Most casualties had been brought in and now the few unharmed remained to pass on their version of the catastrophe. The bedlam had simmered down, now that Buffy was back, but it felt as though we were all teetering on the verge of something very bad. Buffy was frowning and I couldn't tell why. Suddenly she turned and looked directly at me. Her eyes flitted to Jess slumped in my arms.

"Get her to the infirmary." Buffy muttered before moving towards Willow who was talking to a girl who looked on the edge of tears.

"No." I said. Buffy shook her head and threw a furious glare at me.

"This is _so_ not the time to argue—,"

"The infirmary won't do anything." I said sharply. My throat was suddenly and completely dry. "She needs a coffin. She's dead."

Buffy froze and even in the dark moonlight, I could tell she paled.

"Did you try to save her?"

"I tripped over her b—," I caught myself. "I tripped over her as I ran out. It's not like I would leave her there."

Suddenly the dryness in my throat turned into harsh crackling, a sort of bile rising in there. I stared at the spot of blood on Buffy's ear.

"No, of course, you couldn't leave her." Buffy's voice was soft and calm, trying to be comforting but for some reason, the noise was like nails on a chalkboard. "Here. Give her to me and I'll—,"

"NO!" I nearly screamed. The hand hanging around Jess's waist shook slightly. "No," I began again. "Just tell me what to do with her."

Buffy nodded, her hazel eyes oddly glassy. "Take her to Prep Room. In the basement." She started towards Willow and then stopped to look back at me, her mouth open in a way that said she meant to apologize.

"Don't." I hissed, a sharp swell of something burning away the flesh in my chest and throat. "Don't even try to say it."


End file.
